


The One Where Everybody Finds Out

by floorcoaster



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-13 17:44:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20586485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floorcoaster/pseuds/floorcoaster
Summary: "She's your lobster. C'mon you guys. It's a known fact that lobsters fall in love and mate for life. You can actually see old lobster couples, walking around their tank, you know, holding claws. ... See? He's her lobster!"   ~~ Phoebe Buffay





	1. The One with the Wedding Dress

**Author's Note:**

> My chosen couple was Ross and Rachel from Friends. I enjoyed thinking about who in the HP world was like whom in the Friends-verse, and Hermione and Draco had pieces of multiple characters, and it was SO FUN to write this. I couldn't help but imagine the apartment where Rachel and Monica live for this story, so if you've seen the show, you can just picture everybody in that space. In Diagon Alley. Also including the window you have to crawl through to get to a small balcony. 
> 
> Many unending thanks to my betas, eilonwy and dormiensa! I so appreciate your help with this! All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Story title taken from the show, Season 5, Episode 14. Some sections titles taken from episodes (S1E24, S2E1, S2E7), and the format of all section titles inspired by the show.

****

The ding of the door chime startled her out of her thoughts. Hermione looked up from the papers strewn on her table for one and was surprised to see a woman in a wedding dress. She almost looked away, unconcerned, but there was something about the woman’s frantic hand motions that made her pause. Then a sob escaped the woman’s mouth and she turned around, her eyes darting around the café as though desperate for some escape. 

Hermione gasped softly, but the woman heard her. Their eyes met, and Hermione’s main thought was that Pansy Parkinson didn’t look a day older than she had at her trial, six years before. Relief, then doubt, skipped through her eyes and she bit her lip. Hermione could see tears threatening to fall. The two women stared at each other for a few seconds; then Hermione motioned for Pansy to join her.

For a moment, she hesitated, then hurried over and slunk into the chair across from Hermione, slouching down as though trying to avoid being seen.

“The wedding dress is a bit of draw, you know,” Hermione said dryly.

Pansy glared at her, then promptly burst into tears. 

Hermione felt a little bad, and when Pansy had calmed a bit, she said, “So… do you want to talk about it?” 

Pansy huffed, scowled, then bit her lip, her eyes welling with tears again. “I… not… Not really.”

Hermione nodded and returned to her papers. She’d been at the café for an hour reading reports for work. It was something she did occasionally on the weekend. 

“I just couldn’t marry him,” Pansy blurted out. “My parents found this… Polish prince, or something, and he was amazing on parchment, but there was no spark between us, no interest. I tried, I really did, but when I saw him there, standing under the bonding tree, a blank expression on his face, I turned around and ran.” She paused to blow her nose.

Hermione waited. She had heard of Pansy’s illustrious New Year’s Day wedding, though of course she hadn’t been invited. It wasn’t as though they were friends. They were cordial when they happened to meet, which was very rare. Harry had testified at her trial—at the trials of all his fellow Hogwarts students—in an attempt to keep as many of them out of prison as possible. It was his belief that forgiveness, not punishment, would go further to heal the wizarding world. So far, Hermione agreed with him. The six years since the end of the war had been a peaceful time, with Harry leading the way by example. He’d befriended many of his former enemies, or at least extended a hand toward them—even Pansy, who, during the Final Battle, had wanted to turn him over to Voldemort. Hermione and Ron had gone along with Harry’s plan, but had never tried to befriend anyone from Slytherin. Ginny had been dating Blaise Zabini for two years, though, so he had been grudgingly accepted into their circle. That hadn’t been too difficult, once it was clear how he felt about Ginny. Plus, he had always been different from most of them, had never been ambitious in wanting to rid the world of anybody he didn’t agree with. 

From all accounts in the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly, Pansy was madly in love with the Polish prince—an actual prince!—but Hermione could tell that the woman in front of her was anything but. She felt a mild twinge of sympathy for her. 

“My parents will never understand,” Pansy continued. “They don’t seem to care how I feel about the matter. They just want me married off to someone rich and preferably from another country. I’d have had to move to Poland!” Her eyes flashed desperately. “I couldn’t do that! All my friends are here, everything I’ve known is here! Now, maybe if I loved him, I could do it, but….” She trailed off, then grabbed Hermione’s wrist and stared at her imploringly. “I don’t love him. So I… I shouldn’t have to marry him, right?” It was as though she needed permission from somebody to say what she was saying. 

Hermione tried to give her a comforting smile. “Of course not. No one should be forced into a marriage without their his or her consent.”

Pansy let out a full-body sigh of relief, and her shoulders slumped. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to do.” She dropped her head onto her arms on the table.

“Why don’t you write your parents a letter?” Hermione suggested. Pansy glanced up at her with a skeptical expression. “It’s something I do, sometimes, when I need to get my thoughts out clearly and doing it in person is daunting.”

At that moment, another door chime sounded, and Hermione glanced up to see Draco Malfoy, in full dress robes, glancing methodically around the room. When his gaze met hers and he saw Pansy, he headed straight for them. Hermione knew that Pansy hadn’t been about to marry Malfoy, but she thought she saw in his eyes that he would try to talk his friend into the union. Hermione squared her shoulders and prepared to repel him, but as he came nearer, his expression softened.

“Pansy,” he said gently, reaching out to touch her shoulder but thinking better of it. 

She raised her head, and Hermione saw her face streaked with fresh tears. “Draco?”

He smiled kindly, and Hermione was struck by the look on his face. She’d never seen him appear so tender, so open. “Are you all right?” 

She shook her head, and Hermione thought she might start crying again, but instead she sat up straight and wiped her eyes. “I can’t marry him, Draco.”

He Summoned a chair from another table and sat beside her to look into her eyes. After searching them for a moment, he sighed. “I know. But what will you do now? Your parents… your father is livid. He’s convinced he can find you and change your mind.”

Pansy set her jaw and gave Draco a fierce look. “I can’t. I won’t marry him; I will not spend my life with someone I don’t love.”

Draco reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek. “I’m not here to try and bring you back. I wanted to find you before someone else did. Many are looking, and your father is… unreasonable. I won’t let anybody take you. Though I doubt anyone would look here.”

Pansy smiled very slightly. “I was looking for somewhere, anywhere, where I felt I could be safe, and I saw Hermione sitting here and I knew, I just knew, that she would understand.”

Draco blinked, then looked at Hermione, as though he hadn’t even seen her before. Hermione felt inexplicably sad as she watched his walls fall into place. The rare instance where he had been so vulnerable in front of her had been charming to observe. “Granger,” he said mechanically. 

Hermione gave him a slight smile. “Malfoy.”

He stared at her hard for an instant, then turned back to Pansy. “What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know!” she whined, dropping her face into her hands. “Whenever I gave any indication of not being completely thrilled at the prospect of marrying Jakob, my father got angry and threatened to disown me if I didn’t comply! And now that I’ve so very publicly embarrassed him, he’ll never forgive me. Oh, Draco, he’ll make me leave home! I have nowhere to go! What’s going to happen to me?”

“You’re going to be fine,” Hermione said firmly, a strong feeling of sisterly protection coming over her. 

They both looked at her, Draco with a calculating look, Pansy with a hint of hope. “You think so?” she asked timidly.

“Absolutely. You can stay with me; I’ve got an extra room.” It was out of her mouth before she’d really thought about it. 

Pansy’s mouth dropped open, and Draco’s eyes went wide. “With… you?” she said, obviously surprised by the offer.

“Sure,” Hermione affirmed. “You can stay with me until you figure things out. I’ll help however I can.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Why?”

“Because she shouldn’t have to marry someone she doesn’t want to, and she needs a path open to her that gives her room to think and breathe and plan her own life. If she doesn’t have a soft place to land, she’ll feel like her only option is to do what they tell her to do.” Hermione had always had a strong desire for justice, and this situation was no less deserving than any other. 

Draco’s expression softened. “That’s true.” He turned to Pansy. “You can always stay with me.”

“No,” she said resolutely. “I know your parents are… different… but how do I know they won’t try to get me to go home? Or tell my parents where I am?”

“They won’t,” he insisted. “You know their views on this kind of thing.”

Hermione was instantly very curious about the Malfoys but felt it best not to interrupt.

“Yes, but I don’t trust them to shelter me from my family. The pressures from another high and mighty wizarding family would be hard to ignore,” Pansy said defiantly. “I’m not staying with you. I’ll stay with Hermione.”

“You sure about this?” Draco asked Hermione with an intense look.

“Of course,” she replied, though now she was starting to think through what she had offered. Pansy would suddenly be present in her daily life. It was highly probable she didn’t know anything about living in the real world outside of her parents’ protection and provision, to say nothing of living with someone whose Muggle parents visited regularly. What had she gotten herself into? Before she could think herself out of it, she continued. “We can go right now and get you set up.”

Pansy’s eyes lit up. “Yeah?”

Hermione smiled. “Absolutely.”

****

oOo

Five hours later, Pansy was completely moved in. The closet had required expanding—Hermione couldn’t believe how many pairs of shoes Pansy felt she needed. Pansy had made a fire call to her parents and told them she couldn’t marry Jakob. They promised to cut her off completely, and within an hour of the end of the call, Pansy received an owl saying that her vault access at Gringotts had been revoked. She had cried a little, but resolved to find a job the next day. Finally, exhausted physically and emotionally, she’d gone to bed right after dinner.

Hermione’s home was a simple, two-bedroom, one-bathroom flat. The door opened onto a small entry area that led directly to the kitchen, which was open to a generous living room area. The two bedrooms both had doors off the living room with a fireplace between, and there was a large bay window at the back. By crawling through a window, one gained access to a small, railed patio.

Draco was helping Hermione clean up, restoring her main living space to what it had been before Pansy moved in. The living room had a sofa and an armchair arranged around a coffee table, with the sofa opposite the fireplace. 

“You really don’t have to stay,” Hermione insisted. It wasn’t that Draco was entirely unpleasant, and she truly wanted to catch up with him, but she was ready to be alone so that she could process everything that had happened and make a plan for the immediate future. 

He shrugged. “It’s almost done.” 

Hermione ended up in the kitchen, and as she wiped the last crumb off the counter, she noticed a bottle of wine. “I can thank you with a drink,” she said. “Would you like wine? Or Ron might have left a beer somewhere.” 

Draco was surprised, but he nodded. “Beer, please.” Hermione got him one from the refrigerator, a wine glass and the bottle, and joined him in the living room. She sat on the floor by the coffee table, poured herself a glass, and leaned back against a chair, closing her eyes and savoring the first swallow. She heard the pop of Draco opening his beer.

“Are you sure you’re all right with me coming to dinner tomorrow?” Draco asked softly after they’d been quiet for a few minutes.

She smiled. “Of course. Though I suspect we’ll have more than just us three.”

“Oh?” 

“Harry and Ron live across the hall,” she explained. “I see them quite a lot, and they come by for meals. Every Friday night we have a big dinner to start the weekend. Though, I don’t really expect them on a Sunday night. But maybe. You never know who will stop by. Ginny usually only comes Friday nights with Blaise.”

“I’ve heard him mention it,” Draco commented. 

Blaise and Ginny had been together for almost two years, though Hermione had always felt like he was holding back when he was around them. Hermione poured herself a little more wine. “He’s one of the group now, I suppose. Oh, and Luna.”

Draco nodded thoughtfully. “Well, I’ll survive one dinner. Won’t I?”

Hermione chuckled. “I think, given what we’ve all been through already, we can get through one meal.”

They were silent again for a long while before Draco spoke again. “Thank you. I mean it. For taking her in like this. Considering the history between you…. Nobody would have expected it of you. But I believe you can give her something that I never could: life outside of our circles. I think she’ll do well, once she adjusts.”

“Of course she will,” said Hermione firmly. “Pansy is strong, though she might not know just how strong yet. Leaving her wedding today was huge! I’m so glad she did. And my history with her isn’t rosy by any means, but it’s better than some.” She meant him, of course, among others, even though they’d patched things up shortly after his trial.

“Have you thought about how this affects your life?” he asked, glancing at her sideways. “You not only have Pansy living with you now, but she and I are… close. She’s like a sister to me. I don’t want to lose that.”

Hermione smiled. “I think I can handle it. You and I have worked together in the past. It wasn’t terrible. We were even… dare I say it… friends. Life will be different, but what is life without change? I’m not usually good at such abrupt change, but this feels right. At least tonight. Ask me again in a week, and I might have something new to say!” 

Draco took a drink, then looked at her appraisingly. “Do you remember fourth year?”

She looked at him curiously, surprised by the abrupt change in topic. “Yes, vividly. It was the year Voldemort returned,” she answered quietly. 

“Before that,” he said with a quick shake of his head. 

She thought a moment. “I remember you feeding Rita Skeeter information that she could twist in order to write a slew of lies about a lot of people I cared about.”

He laughed, to Hermione’s surprise. “Yes, well, we both know I was a wretched little arse.” Hermione laughed too, thankful that he hadn’t taken offense. “I’m thinking more specifically of the Yule Ball,” he said, a strange note to his voice. He didn’t look at her, instead frowning slightly at something on the table. 

Hermione smiled while her mind played pictures from that memorable night. “It was a magical evening. I had so much fun. It was the first time I really let myself just have fun.”

“You went with Viktor Krum,” Draco remarked, absently rubbing at the label on his bottle. “Everybody was stunned.”

Hermione snorted. “I was the only girl who treated him like a person,” she remarked. “And Ron was too much of a coward to ask me, so he ended up making an arse of himself with Padma Patil. I know it was the first time he really thought of me as a girl.”

He didn’t respond right away. “Weasley wasn’t the only one. I remember seeing you enter with Krum. I couldn’t take my eyes off you; I thought you were the most beautiful girl in the room.” The way he said it was light, matter-of-fact. “I thought about you a lot after that night.”

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the strange discomfort caused by his proclamation. “Probably thought of more ways you could make fun of me.” 

“Oh, no,” he said with a low chuckle. “In all the ways a fourteen-year-old boy thinks about a beautiful girl.”

Hermione felt her cheeks redden. “Are you saying you had feelings for me?”

Draco shrugged and cleared his throat, not meeting her eyes. “I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but as I said, I was fourteen. It was complicated. I’m guessing you had no idea.”

“No!” she exclaimed in astonishment. “How could I? You were too good at being a right little beast to me!” How could he possibly have had any sort of feelings that weren’t disgust for her at any point in their childhood? He’d been raised to believe that people like her weren’t worth the air they breathed. 

He laughed and drained what was left in his bottle. “Too right. I was such an arse. Well, I should go,” he said abruptly, standing up. “Thanks for the drink. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Hermione scrambled to her feet and followed him to the door. “Yes, tomorrow. Dinner.”

Draco was in the hallway before he turned around, giving her a quick smile. “Good night.”

“Night,” she said dully, closing the door.

****

**oOo**


	2. The One With the Four-On-Four

Hermione was in her kitchen preparing Friday night dinner for her friends. It was a tradition that Harry, Ron, Ginny, Blaise and Luna came over for dinner on Friday nights, and in the month since Pansy had moved in, she and Draco had joined as well. To everyone’s surprise, Blaise had begun opening up, probably bolstered by the presence of two of his best friends.

Pansy was getting along nicely. She’d gotten work in the café where she’d found Hermione on the day she ran out on her wedding. She hoped it was temporary, but for now, she was having fun. Lots of handsome wizards flirting with her was a major perk of the job. She’d already gone on two dates since starting. And she loved to talk about it.

“Someone new came in today,” she said with a mischievous grin as she stirred a pot of sauce on the stove. 

Hermione smiled. “Yeah? Tell me!”

Pansy looked at her in a calculating way. “I think you should meet him.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Already? Isn’t that moving awfully fast, Pansy?” It was a joke that had started between them. When Pansy was getting serious with someone, she said she’d introduce him to her first. If it got _really_ serious, he’d meet Draco. 

She rolled her eyes. “Not for me. For you.”

Hermione blinked and turned away, her cheeks reddening. “Oh. I see.”

Pansy stopped stirring. “Come on. I haven’t seen you go on one date since I moved in here! Don’t you think you should?”

Hermione barked a laugh. “You think I _should_ be going on dates? Come on, Pansy. I know you haven’t lived here long, but I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Well, maybe not _should_. But how come you haven’t seen anyone?” Pansy asked, returning her attention to the sauce. 

“Nobody’s asked me,” Hermione replied. “Well, not _really_ asked me. Theo doesn’t count because he asks me out every time he sees me. But mostly as a joke. At least, I’ve always thought so.”

“Theo?? Nott?” Pansy exclaimed. She frowned at the sauce while she stirred slowly. 

Hermione wanted to ask Pansy’s thoughts about him, since they had both been in Slytherin, but just then a loud _Pop! _ sounded right behind Hermione and she jumped, knocking some of the lettuce she was preparing onto the floor. She spun around to find Ron opening the fridge. “Merlin, Ron! You only live across the hall! Why can’t you just walk here?” 

He removed a beer from the fridge and shut the door, grinning at her. “Because this is easier?”

She shook her head with a scowl. “Could you be any lazier, Ron?”

He shrugged and popped the cap off the bottle. “It also annoys you, so it’s much more fun this way. If you don’t like it, you could always put up the ward against me.”

Hermione would never do that, and he knew it. Only Harry, Ron and Ginny, in addition to herself and Pansy, had permission to Apparate into the flat. Visitors had to knock or have special permission to travel through the Floo. 

Pansy laughed and Ron gave her a goofy grin. Then his eyes went wide. “Say! Hermione! And Pansy, you too. Do you think Malfoy might be interested in joining our Four-on-Four league?”

“No,” Hermione said firmly.

Pansy looked between them, confused. “What’s a Four-on-Four league?”

It was Hermione’s turn to roll her eyes. She turned her back to Ron and waved her hand as if to say she was finished with the conversation. 

“It’s the Quidditch League we’re in,” Ron explained excitedly. “Instead of the usual seven players, you just have four. Keeper and Seeker of course, but only one Beater and one Chaser. Harry, Gin and me keep trying to find a good Beater, but nobody works out for long.”

Pansy looked thoughtful. “Hm. He played Seeker at school, but I know he loves Quidditch.”

“It’s a long shot, I know,” said Ron pointedly. “Of course he’d want to be Seeker and get all the attention.”

“What’s that, Weasley?” 

They all turned toward the sound, and Hermione was surprised to see that Draco and Harry had come through the door. Draco was eyeing Ron with a playful smirk.

“Nothing you haven’t heard,” Ron said casually. “Just wasn’t sure your ego could handle being a Beater on our little Quidditch team is all.”

“Would I get to hit the Bludger at you, by chance?” Draco asked, removing his cloak and hanging it on the communal cloak rack. 

“Nah,” said Harry. “You’d be trying to keep the Bludger from hitting me.”

Draco laughed. “Oh, well, then I’m afraid I wouldn’t be any good. I wouldn’t know how to _not_ hit it at you, Potter.”

Ron looked torn between wanting to keep ribbing Malfoy and begging him to join. Finally he caved. “No, seriously, mate. What do you think? Want to play Beater tomorrow morning? We don’t have anybody, and we don’t want to forfeit.”

Draco leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, appearing to consider the request. “You, Potter, and…?”

“Ginny,” said Harry.

“Ah.” Draco nodded. Then he shrugged. “Sure. I’ll play. Though I’ve not had much practice at Beater.”

“You can’t be much worse than the last bloke we tried,” said Ron, shuddering. 

Harry shook his head. “At least we know you’re an excellent flier. Were, at least, anyway. You ride much these days?”

Draco shook his head. “Sadly, no. With all that I do for my Father… the business and the charities and the Ministry, I have very little real leisure time. But I don’t think I’m terribly rusty. I’ll dust off the old Firebolt Extreme and see if she’s still air-worthy.”

His comment had the effect he desired. Ron’s jaw dropped. “The… the Firebolt Extreme? But they only made, what, ten of those? In the whole world?”

“Oh? Did they?” Draco asked smugly. 

Again, Ron seemed torn, this time between envy and anger with Draco for always having the best of everything and excitement at the idea of being close to such a broom. His good nature won out. “Can I ride it?”

Draco laughed. “Sure, Weasley.”

Ron pumped his fist in the air. “I call first ride!” he said, looking triumphantly at Harry. 

“Ride what?” Luna asked, as she, Ginny and Blaise entered the flat. 

“Malfoy’s got a Firebolt Extreme!” Ron shouted giddily. “Oh, and he’s playing Beater with us tomorrow.”

Blaise laughed loudly. “Oh, watch out. He’s a terrible Beater.”

Draco scowled. “I am not. Just because you were a terribly flier doesn’t mean I was a bad Beater.”

“Enough,” said Pansy. “Nobody here wants to hear that story.”

“Oh, I think you’re wrong, Pansy dear,” said Ron, grinning at Blaise. 

“They can tell us over dinner,” said Hermione. “It’s ready.”

“Excellent!” cried Ron, hurrying to help get the food on the table. 

****

oOo

Dinner was as loud and crazy as it always was. Blaise masterfully told the story of Draco playing Beater in a Slytherin pick-up game at Hogwarts. It was dramatic and suspenseful and even Draco seemed to enjoy it, even though Blaise made him out to be incompetent. After dinner, Ginny and Harry helped Hermione clean up, then they joined their friends in the living room. Dinner was always followed by a collective unloading of their week, telling stories about things that had happened. After a while, people would trickle home or get into smaller conversations.

Hermione found herself near Draco at one point. She’d been talking with Pansy and Luna, but then the other two had veered off into the creatures Luna wanted to search for, and Hermione drifted out. Draco had been deep in conversation with his soon-to-be Quidditch teammates, but that had just broken up because Blaise and Ginny had to leave. 

She tapped him on the arm. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course,” he replied easily. 

He was sitting casually on the sofa, his dress shirtsleeves rolled up. She was on the chair nearest to him. Hermione bit her lip, not sure how to begin. “I’ve been wanting to ask you this ever since that first day, when Pansy left her wedding.”

“Go on,” he said, leaning a bit closer to her. 

“Okay. That day, in the café, you offered to let Pansy stay with you. She said your parents were different. She worried they’d want her to go home, but you said they wouldn’t. I’ve been quite curious about it ever since.”

“What do you want to know?” he asked, his eyes bright and his voice gentle.

“Well, I know that they keep a very strict public image and seem to be doing all right with all the changes happening—”

“You want to know if they’ve changed?” Draco asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yes. Is that too personal? I mean, your father did try to kill me once, and your aunt—”

Draco held up a hand, his appearance stern. “We talked about all of that. I thought we were past it.”

“Oh, of course we are. But I remain extremely interested in your parents. I can’t help it. In my deepest heart, I hope to see them more accepting.”

Draco’s face relaxed into a smile. “They absolutely are. Sometimes I don’t even recognize them.”

Then a wild thought struck her and she spoke excitedly without thinking. “Would they be okay with you and me dating?” 

He stared at her, hard. “What?” he said cautiously, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hermione felt her cheeks get warm at the way he was looking at her. “Oh, I just… wondered because, you know, I’m Muggle-born, and they always hated people like me before, and, well, their one and only pureblood son dating a Muggle-eborn would be quite remarkable, don’t you think?” It all came out in a rush, and she really wished she had thought before blurting out her question.

Draco blinked and swallowed hard. Then he nodded slowly. 

“You mean they would be okay with it?” If so, it would solidify in Hermione’s mind that people could truly change.

“What?” he asked, then he shook his head. “No. I mean, I don’t know what they’d say. I was agreeing that it would be remarkable. I have never asked them that question before.”

The strange tension she’d felt upon first asking him dissipated a bit. “You should,” she said, briefly meeting his eyes. 

He looked incredulous. “I should? Why?”

“I don’t know. I’m curious. I… Oh, never mind. Sorry I asked.” She tried to think of something else to say, now wanting the conversation to be over. Upon reflection, she realized it was a very awkward question to ask. 

Draco frowned. 

“Oy, Malfoy!” Ron called from across the room. “You play chess?”

“Now and then,” he replied, dragging his gaze from hers. 

Ron grinned. “Come join us then!”

Draco sent one more searching glance toward Hermione and then went to join Harry and Ron. Pansy and Luna were still deep into theories on where Wrackspurts go in winter. Hermione decided it was time for her to go to bed. 

****

oOo

The next morning was full of rushing and finding various uniform pieces for Harry and Ron because, just like every week prior, they didn’t know where anything was.

“Honestly,” snapped Hermione. “You’ve been doing this every week for two years! You’d think you could work out a system by now.”

“We have one,” said Harry in a muffled voice. “We come to you fifteen minutes before we have to leave and you help.”

She rolled her eyes. It wasn’t so simple a matter as Summoning the missing items—today Harry couldn’t find his goggles and Ron was missing a glove. Often they were buried beneath mounds of other things. One time, they’d Summoned Ron’s broom and it had crashed through three other flats to get to them. So that wasn’t really an option. 

Pansy came storming into Harry and Ron’s flat. “Where is Draco? Why isn’t he here yet? He’s never late to anything!”

Harry looked up over the top of the sofa. “He’s meeting us there. Didn’t we tell you that?”

She let out a frustrated growl, stomped her foot once, and Disapparated.

“What’s with her?” asked Ron.

“She’s nervous. For Draco,” said Hermione. “Found the glove!” She held it aloft like a trophy.

“Excellent,” said Ron. “Here are Harry’s goggles.”

They all scrambled to their feet, breathless, and with brief nods, followed Pansy.

Hermione joined Luna, Pansy and Blaise to watch the match. Luna knew one of the players on the other team, a Ravenclaw a few years older than she. It was Pansy’s first match, but she acted like she’d been watching the League for years. She kept up a mumbled commentary on who was being horrible to Draco, occasionally letting out a cheer for Ginny or Ron. Blaise watched the game in tense silence, his eyes rarely straying from Ginny. Hermione didn’t usually attend the games, though she knew Luna did, so she asked questions about the League and how their friends usually played. Luna knew all of the failed players they’d tried at Beater, so she spent much of the game commenting on how Draco was doing. 

“I think he’ll make a fine addition,” she said in summary after a long, protracted critique of his abilities.

“I had no idea you were so into Quidditch,” Hermione observed.

Luna smiled serenely. “I’ve got excellent motivation.”

Hermione didn’t know what she meant. “So you think they’ll keep Draco?”

“Yes. I said that, didn’t I?” Luna stared at Hermione for a moment, then turned back to the game. Hermione noticed that Luna’s gaze strayed most often to Harry, though she had no way of knowing why. Still, it gave Hermione something to think about, since these amateur games weren’t exactly thrilling entertainment. Yes, her friends were above average, she’d swear it on her deathbed, but it was no World Cup game. 

Harry finally caught the Snitch and she could physically feel Blaise relax. Pansy cheered ridiculously loud for Draco, and Luna just smiled her dazed smile. Hermione couldn’t wait to get home. 

“So what happens now?” Pansy asked, jubilant at the win. “We should celebrate!”

Harry rubbed his head. “Er, well, we usually just go shower.”

“But you won!” Pansy cried.

Harry and Ron exchanged a look. “Don’t act so surprised,” said Ron jokingly. 

“I’m not, it’s just… I haven’t seen Quidditch in ages, and you won, so I want to do the thing properly. Come on. Let’s have lunch out?” She pouted at Draco, who raised an eyebrow. After a moment he shrugged. “I’m game.”

Pansy beamed at him. “Who else?”

“I’ll come,” said Blaise casually, taking Ginny’s hand. After that everyone agreed. 

Pansy cheered and hooked her arm through Draco’s. Then she wrinkled her nose and quickly detached herself. “Showers first, though.”

****

oOo

Thirty minutes later, Draco found himself sitting at a table at a pub in Diagon Alley. He was currently not engaged in conversation, though the others were talking in small groups. He was listening to Hermione discussing lunch at The Burrow the following day with Harry and Ginny. They’d just agreed on a dessert to bring when Luna cleared her throat loudly.

“Well?” she said expectantly.

“Well what?” asked Ginny.

“Did Draco make the team or not? I thought that’s why we were here.”

Harry, Ron and Ginny exchanged looks, then all of them turned to Draco. He felt his cheeks turn pink and cursed his fair skin. 

“He played pretty well,” said Ron grudgingly. 

“Better than that bloke last week,” said Ginny, jabbing her finger in the air.

“I don’t know,” said Harry warily. “I thought he looked a bit shaky with the bat.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Oh, please do continue talking about me as though I’m not here, all while staring at me.”

Ron shrugged and popped a chip into his mouth. “Your call,” he said nonchalantly to Harry. Harry looked at Ginny, who nodded.

“All right, Malfoy,” said Harry. “You’re in.”

Draco chuckled. “You three are so full of it. What makes you think I _want_ to join your little… league? I agreed to play today; I said nothing about any future games.” 

Everyone looked at Harry, who sat staring agape at Draco. “Oh, um, I don’t—”

“But you had a lot of fun!” protested Ron animatedly. “I know you did!”

Ginny said nothing but eyed Draco thoughtfully. 

“It’s just a lot of time,” said Draco with a dramatic sigh. “Every Saturday morning?”

“We’re already eleven weeks through a sixteen-week season,” Harry argued. “That only leaves five more.”

“But there will be more, I assume?” Draco asked, frowning. “Quidditch is fun, of course, but I’ve got commitments with work, charity, the Ministry… I’m very busy. What about your brother? Wasn’t he Gryffindor’s Beater for many years?”

“He’s too busy with his shop,” said Harry glumly. 

“Please, Malfoy?” said Ron, almost desperately. “You were really the best Beater we’ve ever had. And we need a good Beater if we’re to have any chance at the Cup.” 

Draco snorted. “A cup? There’s a cup?”

“At the end,” said Ginny. “We’re about middle of our division right now, but if we win the rest of our games, we’ve got a really good chance at the playoffs.”

Harry and Ron cringed at the mention of the possibility of the season taking more than just five more weeks. 

“I see,” said Draco. “And this cup means something to you?”

“Yes!” cried Ron. “We’ve been in this league for three years and never come close! With you, we’ve got a real shot!”

“Will you think about it at least?” Ginny asked.

“Come on, Malfoy,” said Harry. 

Draco drummed his fingers on the table for a moment while everything waited for his response. This really was almost too much fun. He raised an eyebrow dramatically, as though deep in thought and weighing heavy matters. “Right, well, I suppose I can clear some time.”

Ginny gave a little cheer, and Harry and Ron high-fived. “Thanks!” said Harry, beaming. “You won’t regret it.”

“Oh, I’m quite sure I will,” said Draco, stabbing at a pickle with his fork. He met Pansy’s eyes, and she pursed her lips in a barely perceptible smile. When he glanced at Blaise, he chuckled and shook his head.

Harry tossed down a handful of Galleons. “Lunch is on me,” he said gleefully.

Draco turned a full grin on Blaise, who rolled his eyes but made a slight bow of his head. 

Everyone started gathering their things, and Draco followed Pansy outside. She threaded her arm through his and together they walked toward Hermione’s flat. Draco felt good. Really good. He didn’t listen as Pansy and Hermione talked, enjoying the feel of the sun on his face and basking in the Quidditch game that he’d played. It had truly been too long, and now he’d be guaranteed at least five more weeks of play on a team that, apparently, had a chance at some sort of award. Not that he cared about that; though a trophy would look nice on his desk at work. 

Or perhaps the mantle over the fireplace. 

Once they were inside the building, Pansy spoke to him. “That was quite a show, Draco.”

For an instant, he panicked, afraid of what Hermione might say, but then he relaxed. He wanted her to know _all_ of him, and this was certainly part of that. 

He shrugged nonchalantly and smirked at her. “It was fun.”

“What are you two on about?” Hermione asked, glancing between them as she unlocked the door.

“The way they were begging!” Pansy continued, heading to the fridge to pour herself some water. “It was masterful.”

“I thank you,” he said in mock solemnity. “It has been awhile since I’ve been able to exercise those particular talents.”

Hermione crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes in thought. “You’re talking about the game.”

Pansy giggled. “Draco is and always has been an excellent Beater.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide, and he could see the wheels turning in her mind as she added this new piece of information to the few she had before her. “You always played Seeker.”

“That was the only position available at the time,” he said, taking a drink from the fridge as well. “I cared more about being on the team than which position I played. Besides, I was only twelve. My preference for Beater was only slight then.”

“So the whole thing…. All that talk about your time…. Your doubts about playing Beater…. It was all a ruse?” Her eyes sparkled and it unbalanced him a bit. 

“It was harmless,” he said, nerves creeping in again. “But yes. Having Potter and Weasley beg me to play was… enjoyable.”

For a moment, she only stared at him. Then she burst out laughing, briefly placing her hand on his upper arm as if for support. “Oh, that’s brilliant! You had us all fooled!” 

He glanced at Pansy, who smiled at him. 

“Blaise must have known too,” Hermione observed when she’d collected herself. “But he couldn’t have, as he walked in at the end!”

“Well, we’ve had so much practice with Draco that it was second nature to jump in with no forewarning,” said Pansy lightly. 

Hermione shook her head in amusement. “Harry even paid for lunch!”

Draco chuckled. “That was the cherry on top, as they say.”

“But you were perfect as Seeker,” Hermione protested, taking a seat on the sofa as they all left the kitchen. “It suited you. At least, I thought so. You were so vainglorious, and Seeker offers the best chance for glory.”

He took a seat at the opposite end of the sofa, while Pansy sat in an armchair. “I may have been a bit puffed up, once,” he acknowledged. “But I never did well with the pressure. I played Seeker, even caught the Snitch, but I was only ever relieved that the game was over. Beater… it’s just more fun.”

Hermione beamed at him and it did something funny to his insides. “Well, congratulations on the success of your scheme.”

“You’re not… upset?” he asked cautiously.

She laughed, her eyes dancing with mirth. “Of course not. I’m honored to be let in on the secret. And I won’t tell.”

Pansy was giving him a very pointed look, which made Draco uncomfortable. “Well, I’m due at the Manor,” he said, thankful for the excuse to leave. He said his goodbyes and hurried out, groaning as he made his way to the Apparition point inside the building.

It was one thing that his friendship with Hermione was returning with the same ease and enjoyment he’d experienced the first time around, in the two years following his trial. It was something else entirely for him to be thinking about her again in that _other_ way. And, Merlin help him, the way he’d felt when she’d looked at him left no doubt as to his feelings for her. They’d been growing again since that first night, when he’d confessed his fledgling feelings in fourth year. Why was it so easy for him to fall right back into his attraction? He’d barely seen her in the years since their time working together, and here it was, only a few months after Pansy’s wedding-that-was-not, and he was right back where he had been, as though no time had passed. It was slightly disturbing, but not enough that he wanted to be away from her. 

No, never that.

Before, things had been good between them, but their rapport was entirely platonic. He’d been with Astoria through half of it, and she’d been off and on with Ron. But they’d always shared about their dating experiences, telling each other the highs and lows. He’d tried to be a friend when she broke up with, then got back together with, and then broke up again with Ron, even though he’d thought Ron was a dunderhead and a complete fool to risk losing Hermione.

Draco had thought that telling her about fourth year would be cathartic, a release of whatever leftover tendrils of interest there might be, and then they could just be friends. He’d been a fool, though, telling himself lies so that he could deny the truth a little while longer. When he’d first really seen her in that café, he’d been lost. His heart, whatever pieces he’d held back previously, was, at that moment, hers entirely. 

****

**oOo**


	3. The One With Game Night

“My cousins just got this game for Christmas last year, and I played it with them once. It’s wonderful.” Hermione stood before her friends with a fresh, unopened box of _Settlers of Catan: Cities & Knights. _

Ron eyed her skeptically. “It’s a Muggle game?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Ron. You can charm the pieces to move, if that makes you happy.”

Draco never failed to smile whenever Hermione showed impatience with Ron. Possibly because he held a secret fear that she would suddenly decide she wanted to be with the redheaded git again. Or it might be due to their childhood rivalry; he often felt the same with Potter, though it happened far more frequently with Weasley.

It was not the first game night Draco had been invited to, but it was the first one he’d been able to attend. Pansy had been living with Hermione for about four months, and their collective friendships had blossomed. He didn’t completely hate spending time with Harry and Ron. In fact, he often enjoyed it, though he’d deny it to his grave. Ron had an understanding of Quidditch unlike any Draco had encountered, and as dull as he sometimes was, he was an excellent chess player. Draco had yet to beat him. And Harry was surprisingly sardonic and self-deprecating, and he didn’t take himself too seriously. They both made it easy for Draco to be himself, and he had found that he appreciated this. In fact, he had accidentally confessed his feelings for Hermione one night when the three of them had gone out for drinks and he’d had one too many. They’d been surprisingly supportive, and Harry had said he’d suspected it.

Still, he had never participated in a game night in his life, and from what he’d heard about them, they could be intense. Tonight the attendees were himself, Hermione, Ron, Harry, Blaise and Ginny. Pansy and Luna were there, but they didn’t want to play. 

Hermione then read the rules, which confused everyone greatly, especially Weasley. When she finished, everyone started asking questions all at once, and she threw up her hands in exasperation. “Let’s just play, shall we? I think I remember how it goes, and we’ve got the rules right here.”

Harry picked up the rules and started reading while Hermione prepared the game. “It says up to four players,” he said. 

“Oh, right,” she said, pulling another box out of her bag. “There’s this expansion that lets six people play. I’m glad you mentioned that.”

Draco took the rules once Harry finished with them, and soon they were playing. The first game was something of an experiment while they all figured out what was going on. Many mistakes were made, there was a lot of laughing and ribbing, and finally Hermione won.

Her cheeked pinked prettily when she realized it, “Oh! Well. I have played before, so I suppose that helped. Shall we play again?”

Everyone agreed, and another game was set up. However as soon as the first pair of dice was rolled, Draco knew that this was different. The mood in the room shifted, and the easy laughter that had marked the first game was completely gone. Everyone was out for blood, it seemed, and he had a hard time deciding who was most ruthless. 

Ron seemed to have caught on quickly and jumped to an early lead. Then Blaise set out to sabotage him, and things got heated. Harry spent his time quietly building his empire, while Ginny sneakily gathered points without anyone noticing. Hermione seemed to just enjoy being with everyone and appeared to be having the most fun. 

Draco was still not quite sure about the game. He knew that if he made one move, it would upset the power struggle between Ron and Blaise. A different choice would ruin Ginny’s carefully crafted strategy, which he decided was too good to mess with. Blaise was in the lead by one, but Draco could destroy his chances of winning with a well-placed settlement. However, it would only score him one more point, while giving Ron the chance to add two to his total. If his plan played out, though, Draco felt confident that he could win. But it came with a risk; if he failed, he would never recover. He placed before he could think about it anymore. 

His plan didn’t work; Ron won. Draco stood as everybody started talking about the game.

Ron was gleefully removing his pieces from the board, already starting to needle Blaise, who’d come in second. 

When Draco stepped away from the table, Ron looked up. “You’re playing again, right?”

Draco shrugged. “Maybe later. I’ll step away and let someone else have a turn.”

Ron grinned. “What’s the matter, Malfoy? Scared you’ll lose again?”

Draco bristled and Blaise sucked in a sharp breath. 

Ron was looking at him questioningly, almost daringly, waiting for an answer. 

“As I said,” Draco bit out through clenched teeth, “I want to let someone else have a turn.”

“I’ll play!” said Luna brightly, hopping up from the sofa to join them. 

“Sit here,” said Harry quickly, indicating the chair beside him that Draco had just vacated. 

“Pansy?” said Hermione. “Why don’t you take my place?”

Pansy looked at Draco questioningly and he nodded very slightly. “Yeah, all right.”

Draco didn’t wait any longer. He all but bolted from the room and went out through the window onto the little porch, needing fresh air so he could think. He knew Ron hadn’t meant anything by his comment, but it still bit him deeply in the area where he felt most insecure.

He hadn’t been outside for two minutes before someone joined him. It was Hermione. 

“Hey,” she said gently. “Are you all right?”

He looked at her critically, finding only concern in her expression. He shrugged and turned again, resting his arms on the banister. “I’m fine.”

“What happened?” she asked, coming to stand beside him. 

He hesitated. What she wanted to know was one of the deepest wounds he carried from the war. Only Pansy and Blaise really knew, but not through any work on his part. They’d lived through it with him; he hadn’t been required to speak the words out loud, to confess his greatest shame. For a moment, he wrestled with what he should say. In the end, he decided he didn’t want to hide anything from her. 

“I don’t respond well when called a… a coward. That’s all.” His heart was pounding as the word stumbled off his tongue. He’d never said it before, never verbally acknowledged what he’d felt for so long. 

She looked surprised. “Nobody called you a coward.”

He scowled. “He as good as did.”

Hermione laughed lightly, which only served to anger him further. Then she seemed to realize he wasn’t kidding and quickly spoke. “No he didn’t! He was just trying to needle you into playing again! Because he likes you, and likes playing with you.”

He knew what she said was true; Ron hadn’t meant anything by his comment. Draco let out a long breath. “I know you’re right. It reminded me too much of what I went through seventh year. That’s all.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she confessed.

“No,” he said, frustrated. “Why would you?” Again, he hesitated. Her response had been puzzling; she’d said the word with no effort, as though it were just another word. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she said, not quite miffed, but not entirely neutral, either. She turned to go. 

Suddenly, he desperately wanted to tell her. It was one thing to have these feelings for her, but if he ever hoped for more—which he didn’t, not really, but did at the same time, though he just didn’t see how it could be possible—he didn’t want there to be anything wedged between them. And if he didn’t get it all out now, then he never would. “Wait,” he called, reaching for her arm. She allowed him to stop her and returned to join him again at the railing. “Seventh year was awful because… everybody called me a coward. They saw me as one. Treated me as one. Not a single day passed that I wasn’t reminded of my failure. After the war, it continued through my trial. Even today, I can see it in people’s eyes.”

“Your failure?” she repeated, clearly confused.

He gave her a withering look. “Don’t patronize me, Hermione.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I’m not, Draco. Either tell me what you’re talking about or not, that’s your choice.”

They quietly seethed for a minute or two, then Draco realized she didn’t intend to speak again until he had. “Fine,” he said gruffly. “If you must make me spell it out for you. My… mission, for lack of a better word. Sixth year.”

Comprehension dawned, and her eyes widened. “Oh! But… are you telling me that everybody called you a coward for failing to kill an unarmed, dying old man?”

He blinked. Her reaction was not what he’d expected. She was supposed to look away, avoid meeting his eyes. Tiptoe around the reality that, well, yes, he was a coward of course, how could she have forgotten? She wasn’t supposed to look at him boldly, unapologetically, and then counter his trepidation with logic. He fumbled for words. “I, er, I suppose… But… Wait, dying?”

“Yes. Dumbledore had only weeks to live at that point,” she said kindly. “He’d asked Severus to kill him so that you wouldn’t have to do it.”

Draco’s head was spinning. “He what? He knew I was trying? I mean, he’d said as much, but I didn’t really believe him….”

“He did. Because Severus… was on our side, in the end. I think. Or perhaps he was simply against Voldemort, and so he set himself on Harry’s side. For Harry’s Mum. But anyway.”

It was a lot to take in. Draco had always wondered about the intricacies of how the war was concluded. Harry had never given an exhaustive account of the matter, except once before the Wizengamot, and those records were sealed. 

He shook his head, all the years of failure holding tightly in his mind, refusing to give ground and concede that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t a coward after all. It had become too much a part of how he thought of himself. “None of that changes the fact that I failed in my mission to protect my parents. I couldn’t do what I needed to do.” His knuckles were white as he tightly gripped the rail.

“But they were okay,” she pointed out. “They’re both quite fine today, so you didn’t fail.”

He scowled and stared down at the street below. “That’s not how anybody saw it. As far as they were concerned, I had failed my mission, and worse, I’d been allowed to live. And even given that, technically, you are correct, I still didn’t do the right thing. The hard thing. I could have gone to your lot. I should have. Everything in me failed that night, including any interest in the cause. I thought about it, so many times. But I didn’t. I never took a single step toward joining you.”

“And leave your mother? Alone?” she interrupted. Draco was stunned. Was she arguing _in favor_ of his actions? 

“Well, I… My father was released soon after that,” Draco continued. “I could have gone then.”

“Was that before or after Voldemort moved into your house?” she countered. “And then it wasn’t long before your Father had his wand taken. He couldn’t protect your mother without a wand, so of course you had to stay.”

“You’re just making excuses,” he said weakly.

To his surprise, Hermione put her hand on his and looked at him earnestly. “It’s easy to look back and say what we should have done, to regret choices we made. But Draco, I have never ever thought of you as a coward. And neither has Harry or Ron.” She squeezed his hand. “Tell you what. I won’t judge you for the choices you made during the war if you won’t judge me for mine. Fair?”

He snorted. There was so much happening inside his mind and heart—her words, her touch, the intensity in her eyes, all of it directed at him, but none of it could he process adequately. 

“You think there’s nothing for me to be judged for?” she asked pointedly.

All he could do was nod. 

She released his hand and clasped hers together. “I suppose it’s confession time. Let’s see. We could go back to fifth year and talk about all of the rules I broke in order to fight Umbridge. Then there was the fact that I caused a classmate to have permanent scarring on her face because she broke faith. And then it was I who led Umbridge into the Forest, where she was captured and held by centaurs.”

Draco didn’t try to hide his surprise. He’d known bits of this, but she recounted her transgressions as fact, without a hint of shame. 

“Then during the war, I used multiple Unforgiveable curses, including putting someone under the Imperius while I impersonated Bellatrix using Polyjuice in order to steal something from her vault at Gringotts—after she tortured me. I used the pain curse more than once, and I’m responsible for more than one person’s death.” She paused, seemed to waver. “I modified my parents’ memories and sent them to Australia. It was a very close thing to restore them.”

There was so much she had just said that it was hard to wrap his mind around any of it. “Bellatrix?” he repeated, somewhat horrified, completely in awe of her. 

Hermione nodded. “But that’s another story for another time. Draco, you are not a coward. A coward _would have_ killed Dumbledore that night. I’m so sorry that you’ve believed that about yourself for so many years.” She gave his hand another squeeze. “Nobody in that room behind us thinks you’re a coward. I hope that you can believe me.”

She left him then, and though he missed her presence, he was grateful to be alone. Draco’s world was spinning. He’d believed himself to be a coward after failing, felt guilty for not protecting his mother as he should have, hated that he had quailed at the mere mention of Voldemort from that day onward. Everybody had seen this fear and they’d laughed. In his bitterest musings, he had scorned them and thought they could have done no differently, but he had also accepted that some of them would have done exactly what he could not. Rather than ponder how this reflected on their character, he had turned it inward to chastise himself more for his failings. 

Everyone it seemed—his fellow Slytherins, especially, but also teachers and other students—saw him as a coward. Or they simply hated him. And so he had gradually come to accept it as a basic truth about himself, even his defining character. 

After the war and his trial, when he was not imprisoned, when his failings were touted as positive, he felt even more shame. He felt that the Wizengamot had pardoned him out of pity, that Potter had testified for him to spite him. It wasn’t until he’d been forced by the Ministry to work with Hermione—among others—that those beliefs had been shaken. Eventually, he had reconciled her behavior as an anomaly and dismissed any thoughts that she might be right. 

His extremely complicated feelings for her had fully revealed themselves during that time, and he’d realized that they were true, though impossible. After that, he decided he wouldn’t be cowed by everyone’s opinions of him, but he steeled himself to their bite. He learned to ignore the looks, to pretend that he didn’t hear the whispers, to move through life as though it all rolled off him, like water over a duck. 

That a harmless comment, said in jest by a friend, had rattled him meant he still had far to go. But Hermione’s conviction about him, her firm belief that he wasn’t a coward, that he had done the best he could, was also rattling him, and in a completely different way. It had always felt like a failure to him, despite being relieved at not having accomplished his mission. He’d quickly learned that he wasn’t a ruthless killer, nor even a very reluctant one, but that wasn’t the sort of company he was surrounded with at home the summer before sixth year or after. 

If Hermione was to be believed, however, and he had no reason not to trust her, then her friends felt the same way. Nobody in the room behind him believed him to be a coward. And, to his surprise, their opinions mattered much more than the opinions of anybody else. 

Draco took a few steadying breaths, then climbed back through the window and said with a smirk, “I’m ready to put your sorry arse in its place now, Weasley.”

****

**oOo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The game mentioned in the story is really fun. Highly recommend, 5/5 stars.


	4. The One Where Hermione Finds Out

“You’re here!” exclaimed Luna, extending her arms to hug Hermione as soon as she’d walked through the door. 

“You’re right!” Hermione agreed with a laugh. 

“Now we can start the party!” Luna grinned. “Want something to drink?”

Hermione took off her coat and set her bag down on the counter. “Yes, that sounds lovely.” 

“Everybody’s in the living room.” Luna nodded over her shoulder. “I’ll get you some tea.”

“A glass of wine?” Hermione suggested. 

“Coming right up!” Luna disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Hermione a moment of calm before she joined her friends. It was her birthday, and Pansy had put together a dinner party. Hermione had insisted it not be a big deal, but as the hours had passed at work, she’d allowed herself to get excited. Now she was in that moment between the hustle and rush of work and the hours she would spend with most of her dearest friends. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, then went into the living room.

“There she is!” cried Ron, standing up to give her a giant, Ron-sized hug. Harry was next, followed by Ginny. Blaise merely gave her a smirk and a nod. 

“Happy birthday, Hermione,” he said, his hands just tucked into his pockets. 

“Thank you, Blaise,” she said with a grin. 

Pansy entered then carrying Hermione’s glass of wine. “Dinner will be ready in about five minutes, then we’ll do presents, followed by dessert.”

“Presents? I distinctly remember saying no presents!” protested Hermione.

Pansy shrugged. “Not everybody listened to you.”

“Nobody did,” said Harry with a grin. 

Ginny led her to a chair and everyone produced a wrapped package, stacking them on the table in front of her. Beaming, she took the top one. 

“That’s from me,” said Ron proudly. 

Hermione smiled at him and ripped into the paper. It was an extra large package of sugar quills. “Er, thanks, Ron,” she said, setting the box beside her. Next she opened a box from Blaise and Ginny, a new quill from Harry, a scarf from Luna that she’d knitted herself, and a mug from Pansy that said, “When in doubt, go to the library.”

“I always say that!” Hermione exclaimed. 

Pansy sighed. “I know, that’s why I got it for you.”

“What’s this?” she asked, picking up the last box. It was simply wrapped in paper with a gold ribbon on it. 

“Oh, that’s from Draco,” said Pansy. “He left it for me to give to you since he’s in Germany.”

“When does he return?” asked Luna. 

“Early November, I think,” Pansy replied. 

Hermione removed the paper and then opened the box. She gasped. “Oh! He remembered! I can’t believe it!” Inside was a delicate silver necklace. Carefully she removed it from the box to examine the pendant. “It’s been months! We were window-shopping, and I saw this necklace, and I told him that it looked like something my grandmother had that got lost when she moved. I was seven, but it had been my favorite thing of hers. I’d cried the next time we visited her and we couldn’t find it. It’s not identical, but nearly so. Wow.”

“It’s beautiful,” said Luna, as Hermione showed it to her. “It must have cost a fortune.”

“You do know Draco, right?” said Ron, opening the package of sugar quills and popping one in his mouth.

Pansy frowned. “Yes, but he doesn’t typically buy extravagant gifts for people. He’s very sensible and reasonable.”

Blaise held up a hand. “But not always, Pans. Don’t you remember a few years ago when he was in love with Astoria? He bought that horrid crystal duck that she wanted.”

Something in Hermione’s stomach did a flip-flop, and the mood in the room changed instantly. She sensed that everybody was now uncomfortable, but she didn’t look anywhere except at Blaise. “What did you just say?” she asked him, her heart pounding. 

He stared at her hard for a moment, just the tiniest hint of something in his eyes. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Crystal duck.”

“No,” she said firmly. “No, the, um, the love part?” It came out sounding like a question at the end because it was unfathomable that Draco Malfoy could possibly be in love with her.

“Oh. That,” he said bluntly. Then he said nothing more, simply continued looking at her as though they’d been discussed the latest Quidditch match. 

“Blaise,” she said warningly, ready to resort to Veritaserum if she had to. Pansy put a hand on her shoulder. Hermione looked up and realized that she knew, too. As she glanced from friend to friend, nobody would look her in the eyes. “You all knew?”

Ginny nodded; Blaise still wouldn’t blink. 

“Ron and I found out accidentally,” said Harry, “about, what, seven months ago?”

“Not long after Pansy moved in,” Ron agreed.

“Seven _months?_” said Hermione incredulously. 

Luna sighed airily, staring dreamily into space. “I saw something strange about his aura when he was near you in school. I just assumed everyone knew.”

“I’ve known Draco for years,” said Pansy. “It’s always kind of been there.”

“Always?” she whispered, her mind racing for some sign to confirm what she was hearing. Of course in school he’d been horrible to her, but that’s also when his attraction had begun. After the war, they’d been around each other enough, she supposed, for something to spark in his heart. She’d been grudgingly impressed by him during the trials and all that followed. She’d even come to respect him then. So when he was suddenly thrust into her life when Pansy stumbled into the café that day, she hadn’t minded a bit. And, it was true, they’d increasingly spent time together in the almost year since, including plenty of time alone. But she’d never gotten the indication that he was harboring feelings for her. Yet, according to everyone in the room, he had been.

Pansy shrugged. “Off and on. Ever since the Yule Ball, he couldn’t get you out of his head. Eventually, you found your way deeper.”

“Well?” said Luna expectantly. “Are you going to go for it?”

Hermione couldn’t hide her shock. “What?”

“You know,” said Luna, “He likes you, so what are you going to do about that?”

“I… I don’t know,” Hermione stammered. “I’ve never thought about it.”

“Never?” asked Ron skeptically. “Really? We kind of thought you fancied him all along.”

“Yes! Really!” Hermione exclaimed emphatically. “I consider him a friend, but I’ve never thought of him any other way.” She could tell that some people didn’t believe her. 

“But how could you not?” asked Ginny.

“Hey!” said Blaise, giving her a sharp look.

“What? I’m not blind,” she retorted. “I love you, Blaise, but Draco is not awful to look at.”

Hermione felt her cheeks get hot. She _had_ noticed that much. “Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean I’ve thought about him as more than a friend. I’m serious!” she added when Harry and Ron exchanged a disbelieving look. “Let’s… let’s just move on to dinner, shall we?” 

All she really wanted to do was get away from everybody so she could think, though she knew that wouldn’t be possible for a while. What she wished more than anything was that she could see Draco. What would happen when he returned? The thought of seeing him again made her stomach flutter in that not-quite-unpleasant first-beginnings-of-attraction kind of way. 

Somehow, the evening passed, though Hermione could recall very little of it. When she and Pansy were alone, she pressed her for as many details as possible. By the time Hermione went to sleep, she’d learned that Draco had really started thinking of her after his trial following the war. He’d had an adolescent attraction to her that, considering everything, couldn’t possibly have led to anything. But their work together as a result of his sentence had allowed him to see her in a brand new light. Apparently, he’d talked about her a lot, but only to Pansy and Blaise, who’d guessed at his feelings, and they’d teased him relentlessly for it. Once their close association had ended, he’d tried his best to forget her, though when they reconnected, it hadn’t taken him long to fall for her again. Hard.

Hermione lay in bed, thinking back to the work they’d done. Draco had been found guilty of being a Death Eater, but thanks to Harry’s testimony, he’d been released on his own recognizance and given community service. That service turned out to be with her, as well as some others, in an effort to rethink aspects of the wizarding world. They’d been part of a think tank, really, and they’d been the youngest members. That they were from Gryffindor and Slytherin Houses was no accident. They provided input on a variety of topics, ranging from Hogwarts curriculum to Ministry policy to diversity representation. It had gone far more smoothly than anybody had anticipated, and she’d found Draco to be both thoughtful and willing to learn. She’d been deep in the most pleasant phase of her relationship with Ron, however, and had spared no thoughts for anybody else. That project had lasted almost two years, and her friendship with Draco had grown all through that time. He had been there for her when things were rocky with Ron, but she’d never suspected he felt anything special for her.

Knowing that he’d harbored feelings for her during that time made her wish she could replay all of those conversations. They’d spent hours together every day, sometimes more than with anybody else, and grown close. She had hoped they’d remain friends after the project ended, but that hadn’t happened. They simply hadn’t had occasion to meet, and neither had taken the initiative to make it happen. They’d both been with other people, and she’d believed Draco was serious about Astoria. In fact, she’d looked for an announcement of their engagement in the paper for months after she saw him last. But her relationship with Ron was complicated and getting messier, so she focused on that and let her thoughts of Draco slide. After all, she’d only been missing his friendship.

He apparently had gone through all of that with feelings for her. She tried to remember anything that might have suggested it, in his words or actions, but she couldn’t nail him down. Anything that made her pause could be explained a number of ways. 

She shook her head. There was no use in pondering events that were years old. What about more recently? She pored through her memories, but again couldn’t find anything that would give him away. It had been easy to find their way to the close relationship they’d shared before, and it deepened quickly. They were older, and Draco was easier with them all because he felt more comfortable, knowing he had Pansy and Blaise around, than he had years before. She had found it very comforting—exhilarating, even—that there were things she knew about him that no one else did. 

After an hour or so, she was mainly frustrated because despite it all, she couldn’t definitively identify proof of his affection for her. Yes, all his friends said it was there, but shouldn’t she be able to find it? Were his easy smiles just for her? Or were they only the smiles of a friend? She wished she could find something to hold onto, a look, a touch, a moment, that would answer her heart. But more than anything, she wished he weren’t in Germany, and beyond that, that he was coming home tomorrow rather than in another six weeks. 

****

**oOo**


	5. The One With Draco's New Girlfriend

“You know what to say?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes, Pansy. We’ve gone over it half a dozen times. I think I can manage this.”

Pansy gave her a very stern look. “But this is Draco. And I know he’s going to want to go straight home, but you have to make him come here.”

“I know! I can do this, Pansy.” The other witch looked like she didn’t quite believe it and was about to speak, but Hermione held up a hand. “I’m going. I’ll be back! With Draco.” She didn’t wait but Disapparated, leaving Pansy with her mouth wide open, probably to demand that Hermione go over the plan for the ninth time. 

Hermione arrived at the International Portkey Terminal on a crisp November evening with six minutes to spare before Draco was due to arrive. Her stomach was tied in painful knots, but she closed her eyes and steadied her breathing. Draco wasn’t expecting anybody to be there when he returned, but Pansy had insisted on throwing him a welcome- home dinner party, and so Hermione had volunteered to meet him and convince him to go back to her flat with her. She couldn’t wait to see him again. The six weeks since finding out about his feelings had moved so slowly. It hadn’t taken her long to realize that she could very easily fall for him and not much longer after that for her to develop feelings of her own. She had wanted to find some definite sign in her memory, but instead, after hours with Harry’s Pensieve, what she saw was a man she would be lucky to call hers. He was kind and funny, sarcastic and witty, attentive and thoughtful, and she found him very charming and handsome. 

Once feelings had sparked inside her, she thought through every angle, every objection, made list upon list and came through the other side quite besotted. Now all she needed was to see him to be absolutely certain, though she didn’t have any doubts. She’d see him, thank him for the birthday gift, tell him…. Oh, she still didn’t know what she would say! But she was confident that the right words would come. 

A voice spoke over the murmur of the crowd. “Now arriving Gate Four from Munich.”

Hermione’s stomach flipped and she gasped slightly. There was a loud _Pop!_ and then, about thirty feet from where she and some others were waiting, a group of about twelve people appeared, jostling slightly as they came to a stop. A moment later and another loud _Pop!_ signaled the arrival of the luggage. She thought she saw a flash of white-blond hair, but she had to content herself with waiting for him to emerge from the small crowd. 

Then—there he was! Her heart leapt into her throat and what felt like a cannon exploded inside her. Merlin, he looked better than she remembered. She didn’t bother to fight a huge grin, ready to take the wildest leap of her life. She started to call out to him when she noticed he seemed to be waiting for someone. He turned and smiled at a woman with straight, jet-black hair, wearing a fitted black dress. The woman smiled back at him and held her hand out for him to take. He did, then he stopped and kissed her intensely.

Hermione suddenly couldn’t breathe. Her vision blurred and she could feel her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst through her ribcage. She couldn’t even think, and she spun on her heel, ready to run through the small crowd and get away.

But it was too late; he’d seen her. 

“Hermione?” 

Somehow, she managed to plaster a smile on her face, and after pausing a moment to force herself to breathe, she turned around. There he was, and she was hit again with what felt like a Bludger to the gut. On his arm was the woman in black. Hermione had briefly hoped that she’d imagined that whole scene. But no. 

She waited awkwardly for them to approach. “Draco!” she cried with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Hello!”

“I thought that was you,” he said, his eyes betraying nothing. “What are you doing here?”

“Here? I’m here to meet you, of course.” Thankfully, she had an excuse for being at the Terminal and didn’t have to make something up. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Well, I can’t really tell you,” she said conspiratorially, giving him what she hoped was a knowing look. Inside, she was dying a little with every second that passed.

Draco chuckled. “Let me guess. Pansy’s up to something? At your flat? And she sent you to make sure I do what she wants?”

“Like I said, I can’t tell you.” She smiled. “But I did get the short end of the stick.”

It was only now that Draco acknowledged the other woman. “I know we’re both tired, but this would be a great chance for you to meet my friends.”

The woman in black smiled at him. “For example, this friend right here?”

Draco blinked for a moment, then comprehension dawned. “Ah, how discourteous of me. Forgive me. Julia, this is Hermione Granger. Hermione, meet Julia Davenport. We went to school together—well, we all did, I suppose, but Julia was in Slytherin, one year behind us.”

Hermione held out her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Julia.”

“And you as well. I can’t believe I’m meeting _the_ Hermione Granger.” She beamed. “Of course, I saw you all the time in school. We never met, though.” Julia paused, almost shyly. “You probably don’t remember this, but you handed me a book I dropped in the corridor once.”

Hermione smiled again, this time meaning it just a little. “I’m glad that your memory of me is a good one. That can’t be said for everyone.” At this, she looked at Draco and felt a decade of history, good and bad, between them. And yet, with all of that, she wanted him. 

“Well, shall we be going then?” Draco suggested. “It’s not good to keep Pansy waiting.” 

“Yes, indeed. You know where to go, so I’ll see you there.” Hermione gave them a brief look and Disapparated. 

She arrived in her living room where everyone was waiting. Draco and Julia would have to Apparate into the hallway and then knock. It gave her just a few seconds to panic. She spun to face Blaise, murder in her eyes. He stepped back as a knock sounded at the door.

“Hermione?” he said hesitantly.

“Is everything okay?” Pansy asked as she went to the door. She opened it and said, barely paying attention to who was on the other side, “Hey, Draco, welcome back….” But she trailed off upon seeing that Draco was not alone.

“Pansy!” Julia squealed and threw her arms around the other witch. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you! It’s been ages! How are you? How are things? I read about you walking out of your wedding and I cheered so loudly for you! That was so badass! Did your father disown you? Is that why you’re living here?”

“Julia?” she said, looking askance at Draco, who was standing just inside the door with his hands in his pockets. Hermione thought he was extremely dashing and nonchalant. She hated herself for thinking it.

“Yes!” Julia exclaimed, holding Pansy at arm’s length to look at her. “Oh, when Draco told me I would get to see you, I couldn’t contain my excitement. Right, Draco?”

He nodded. “She couldn’t wait to see you.”

“Ah, I see,” said Pansy, paling slightly. “You’re together?”

Julia did a little hop and slid her hand into Draco’s. “Yes. We reconnected—what would you say? Almost three months ago?—In Berlin.”

Pansy’s eyebrows shot up. “Three months ago? Draco, you didn’t say a word in your letters!”

He shrugged, the faintest hint of pink tinging his cheeks. “I know. I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t know what there was to say. Until I asked her to come home with me and she said yes.”

“But that was only two days ago,” Julia interjected energetically. “So there wasn’t time for him to write.”

“That’s incredible!” cried Pansy. “Well, please, come in, Julia, and meet everyone.” Pansy led them into the living room, though they’d all seen the exchange at the door. Pansy gave Hermione a worried look, then proceeded to introduce Julia to Draco’s friends. “Julia, this is Harry, that’s Ron, you probably know Luna, and of course Blaise and his girlfriend Ginny, you probably know her, too, actually. You were in the same year. And I’m guessing you met Hermione already? Yes? Good. That’s everyone!”

They all sat down, and Julia sat with Draco on the sofa, so close that she was practically on top of him. To Hermione’s relief, Pansy took the lead in the conversation, asking the question that everyone wanted to know the answer to.

“So! Draco! How did this happen?” Pansy smiled, but Hermione could tell it was strained. She could feel the pity emanating from all her friends, and it made her want to crawl into a hole and stay there for a month.

Julia was apparently so excited to answer that she didn’t give Draco a chance. “We ran into each other in Berlin, while Draco was there for a meeting, and it was so nice for me to see someone from home that I wouldn’t let him out of my sight until I’d asked about a thousand questions. We talked for hours that night, and we still weren’t done, so we made plans to meet for lunch the next day. Lunch led to dinner, and then…. Well, here we are!”

Hermione felt each word like a wound. They’d been together for over two months! Here she was, pining at home for him, beyond anxious for him to return, and he hadn’t thought of her at all! She’d spent her time falling for him, and he spent his moving on. Tears stung her eyes but she refused to give in to them. Not now. 

It was also painful to see them together. Draco seemed so comfortable with Julia, so relaxed. He’d casually touch her arm or put his hand on her knee, and the way he looked at her pierced Hermione to the core. 

He was completely lost to her. 

They left before dinner, claiming that Julia was tired and Draco had to be up early the next morning. 

As soon as Pansy shut the door behind them, Hermione rounded on Blaise. “What the hell, Zabini?” she practically shouted. “What was all of this? Why did you tell me he loved me when clearly, he did no such thing! Was it some kind of sick joke?”

Blaise looked stricken. “Oh Hermione, no! Never! I would never do that, never let you fall for him based on a lie! I’m so sorry. I was as surprised as you! It’s been only you for years, I swear!”

She believed him, of course. Her own friends would never treat her so cruelly. She crumpled onto the sofa and the tears spilled over. Ginny and Luna sat on either side of her and Pansy walked back and forth behind the sofa, wringing her hands and muttering. Harry and Ron just looked extremely uncomfortable. Ginny put her arms around Hermione, and Luna took her hand. 

“When I saw them together,” she said through sobs, “I…. I….” She couldn’t finish; she couldn’t even put into words what she’d felt when she saw them. 

Ginny pulled her close and held her tight. After a little while, the tears slowed and somebody produced tissues. Hermione wiped her eyes and dabbed her nose. “Thank you, everyone. For being such good friends. I mean, I’m probably overreacting, right? We weren’t even together, for Merlin’s sake! I’m sure I’ll be right as rain in no time.”

****

**oOo**


	6. The One Where Draco Finds Out

She had been so very wrong. It was now February, and Hermione was nearing the end of herself. She felt completely alone in the room despite the fact that all of her friends—and Julia—were there. Julia was sitting beside Draco and they were talking to Luna. Harry and Ron were in a lively discussion with Blaise about Quidditch, and Ginny and Pansy were in the kitchen getting dinner ready. 

Three months had passed since Draco had arrived home with Julia in tow, and if she’d thought, however delusionally, that she’d be over him, she’d been sorely mistaken. Hermione’s feelings had only grown stronger upon being around him. He had no clue that anything had changed, and so he was as kind and fun and affectionate and enjoyable and interesting and challenging as always, if a little more reserved. 

At one point, though, he’d confronted her, asking if something had happened while he was away (obviously) or if he’d offended her somehow, because he’d felt that she was avoiding him. It was true; they used to spend more time just the two of them, and now that was almost impossible, largely because—yes of course she was avoiding him. She hadn’t admitted that, instead blaming her work and reminding him that his new relationship was keeping him awfully busy.

Tonight, Hermione’s misery was as keen as ever while she watched her friends talking. She felt a pang of something she couldn’t name. Was it jealousy? She certainly felt that toward Julia. But Ginny and Blaise were happy together, and Pansy was practically glowing now that she and Ron were together. It was only a matter of time before Harry realized how amazing Luna was for him, leaving Hermione quite left out. For a brief moment, she thought of Theo, who still never failed to ask her out whenever he came in for a meeting. He was charming, sure, and good-looking, but she’d never felt anything for him. Though, it might not be fair to make that call when she only ever saw him at the Ministry on work-related matters. It also might not be fair to say yes to him when she was desperately wishing she were with Draco, either. 

“Oh, that’s so great!” said Luna excitedly. “Are you looking at places?”

“We started today,” Julia replied, squeezing Draco’s hand. “I’m tired of staying in my parents’ spare room. They hadn’t been expecting me to come home after I moved to Germany. We looked at a few flats, one in this building!”

Luna’s smile froze. “Oh! That would be so… so close to here!”

“Exactly!” Julia was practically bouncing in her seat. “We want to be close to everyone.”

Hermione didn’t think she could survive if they chose her building. She’d have to move. Tears of frustration threatened, but she refused to let them fall. Not now. After another minute, she got up and joined Ginny and Pansy in the kitchen. She tried to help but she was shaking so badly that she almost dropped a pan of sauce. 

“What’s wrong?” Ginny asked, taking the pan from Hermione with a concerned expression.

She bit her lip to keep from bursting into tears. When she thought she could trust herself to speak, she said, “They’re moving in together. They looked at something here, probably that vacancy on the second floor. I just can’t! I think… I should leave. I’ll see you later, but I need to be anywhere but here.” Without waiting for them to reply, Hermione rushed from the room, thankful that she could leave the flat without anybody seeing her. 

****

oOo

She returned home late that night, when she was sure nobody would be there. Pansy was awake, waiting for her. As soon as she saw Hermione, Pansy crossed the room to hug her. Hermione let the floodgates open this time, sobbing until she couldn’t stand and they had to sit on the sofa. After a few minutes, Hermione felt better.

Dabbing her eyes, she asked how dinner had gone.

“Everyone wondered where you’d gone,” Pansy said. “Julia talked a lot about the move. I’m so ridiculously sorry, Hermione. I absolutely hate what this has done to you. If Blaise hadn’t opened his dumb, pretty mouth, then none of this would have happened. You’d be just fine right now, probably with a boyfriend, laughing and helping Julia pick out towels.”

“I just feel so stupid!” Hermione exclaimed, feeling angry. “I don’t understand why I still can’t move past him! Why do I still have these feelings for him! He’s so clearly happy with Julia, he’s given me no indication that he ever felt anything for me, so why? Pansy, why? Why do I still feel all these things for him?”

Pansy shook her head sadly. “I wish I could help, I really do. The only thing I can think is… you need closure. Have you thought about telling him?”

Hermione’s eyes went wide. “Tell him? Are you mad?”

Pansy shrugged. “Things can’t get much worse than they are now, can they?”

“You’ve got a point there,” Hermione agreed. “But _tell_ him? Confess all that I’ve been feeling? To the man who just looked at flats with his girlfriend today?” She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“How else do you see yourself moving on?” Pansy asked firmly. “I mean it. What can you do? Avoiding him didn’t work, spending time with Julia didn’t work, dating someone else didn’t work. Although I don’t think you gave that a fair try.”

Hermione gave her a hard look before dissolving once more into tears. “I don’t know! I just want to not feel like this anymore!”

“I think you have to tell him,” Pansy said again, more confidently this time. “You’ve got to close this circle of wondering. He can respond however he will, and then you can move forward. Right now, you’re just going round and round.”

Hermione bit her lip. “I could write to him.” She didn’t think she could possibly tell him, but she could pour all of her thoughts and feelings onto parchment and get them out of her head. She’d done it many times before, why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? 

Pansy beamed. “Yes! It’s not as good as doing it in person, but it’ll get the job done.”

Hermione nodded absently, her mind already composing the letter. She left Pansy and went to her room to begin. An hour later, she reread what she’d written. It was good. It was true. She’d written everything, revealing her heart completely without reserve. It was everything she wished she could say to him, and she sighed as she put the letter in an envelope, addressed it and sealed it. _Should_ she send it? She never had in the past when she’d written similar letters to people. But Pansy was right, she needed to do something to help herself move out of this stuck place: stuck wishing for a man who was not available. Well, she didn’t have to decide tonight. She left the letter on her desk and went to get ready for bed.

****

oOo

Three days later, it was Valentine’s Day, and Hermione was reading in her favorite spot in her flat: the cushy seat under the giant window looking out onto the small patio. It was raining outside, and she loved hearing the sound of the constant pitter-patter of drops on the slanted window.

A knock on the door disturbed her peace, and she set her book down to answer the door. 

“Who is it?” she asked.

“Draco.”

Her heart leapt briefly before crashing back down. He was probably here to sign papers on the flat for rent. She opened the door and he smiled as he entered the flat. “Hey. Pansy here? I’ve got about twenty minutes before I need to meet Julia for dinner and thought I’d stop by.” 

“No, sorry. Just me,” she replied with a shrug.

He paused near the kitchen and looked at her intensely. “Just you.”

She felt something in his tone that made her look at him, and she saw something inexplicable in his eyes. She quickly looked away. “I was just reading. Make yourself at home.” Instead of returning to her favorite spot, she sat in the living room so that he could join her. 

He cleared his throat and got a beer out of the refrigerator. “Yeah? What are you reading?”

“It’s a book about the history of vampire relations,” she replied, glad to be talking about something mundane. She wasn’t sure how much her heart could take. “I realized the other day that my knowledge was spotty, so I picked this up yesterday.”

“Any good?” he asked, sitting on the sofa.

She looked at the book, as though the answer could be found on the cover. “Honestly? It’s a bit dry so far. But I’m only a few chapters in and I hope it gets more interesting. I truly don’t see how someone could write a boring book on vampires, but I suppose it’s possible.”

“Do Muggles know about vampires?” Draco asked.

“Yes and no,” she replied, her brow furrowing in thought. “They have mythology about them, but they don’t have any idea that they truly exist.”

“That’s like a lot of things, isn’t it? Vampires, werewolves, unicorns, dragons….”

She smiled. “Magic.”

He chuckled. “Magic.”

Hermione looked at him then and realized she could never send the letter she’d written. At least, she wasn’t at that point yet. She wanted him as a friend and she truly believed that her feelings for him would fade. Especially now that he was so serious with Julia. Her heart would _have_ to accept that fact and cooperate with her head, which desperately wanted to not be so crazy about him. 

The kettle Hermione had put on started whistling. “Want some tea?” she asked, getting up. 

“No, thanks, I’m good with this,” he said, indicating his bottle. 

Just then there was a tapping on the window and they both looked up. It was Draco’s owl, so he got up to let the bird in. Hermione continued to the kitchen. She made sure to prepare her drink as slowly as possible, enjoying the smell of the tea steeping and the dancing of the steam in the candlelight. When she returned to the living room, Draco was standing by the window reading a letter. 

“Anything interesting?” she asked, taking a sip from her mug after she’d sat down. 

He didn’t answer, however, and his expression was strained. Hermione went to sit down, but then he spoke. His voice sounded strangled. “You… you’re _over_ me?”

“What?” she said, whipping her head around to look at him. Her gaze fell on very familiar looking parchment and she realized with a devastating clarity that it was the letter she had written him. “Oh!”

“And Blaise told you of my feelings for you?” He was still staring hard at the parchment in one hand, his other clenched around the envelope.

Hermione stood up so fast that she set her mug down on the edge of the table, spilling her tea all over the rug. She barely noticed. “Oh, Draco!” Her hands flew to her mouth in horror, and she didn’t know what to do. 

Finally, he looked at her, his expression completely unreadable. “What is this?”

She couldn’t speak. Her mind was still processing the fact that Draco was holding the letter she’d written him three days before—the letter where she’d poured out her heart to him, telling him everything and baring her soul. The letter she’d decided not to send. How was it possible that he now had it in his possession?

“Is this a joke?” he asked, and she could hear his tone laced with the beginnings of anger. 

“No!” she cried, eyes widening. “Oh, Draco, I would never—I’m so sorry! You were never supposed to see that. I don’t know how….”

“So you wrote this,” he pressed, the anger gone but still intense. 

Hermione shut her eyes tight, wishing with everything in her that when she opened them, she’d be alone again. Maybe this was a bad dream, a nightmare, and she’d wake up with a crick in her neck from falling asleep by the window. But no such luck. It took every ounce of strength she had to look him in the eye. “Yes,” she whispered. “Only I didn’t mean for you to see it.”

“Then why did you write it? You even sealed it,” he said, indicating the destroyed envelope. 

She nodded and wrung her hands. Her voice trembled as she spoke. “It’s… something I do. Something I’ve always done. I write letters to help me think and process what I’m feeling. They aren’t meant to be sent.” And this was the most vulnerable she’d ever been in a letter and now he would laugh at her and she wished the floor would open up and swallow her. 

“And… you’re… _over_ me.” He spoke haltingly, as though it was hard to speak the words. 

Hermione winced. 

“And Blaise told you—”

“It was an accident,” she interrupted. His eyebrows raised in surprise. “He didn’t mean to. It was when you were in Germany.” _Being with Julia_. “At my birthday dinner. You’d left him this necklace to give me.” She pulled it out from under her shirt to show him. He nodded numbly in recognition of it. “Luna mentioned that it probably cost a lot, and then someone, Ron probably, said that it was you, and, you know, you’re, um, rich, so it was no big deal, but Pansy said it was because it wasn’t something you normally did—spend a lot on gifts, I mean—and Blaise… Well, he mentioned something about a duck you bought Astoria once? Only he also said you’d been in love with her at the time, and so I questioned him on that point, and did you know that everyone in that room except me knew about, um, how you felt?” She didn’t want to stop talking because then he’d have time to respond. 

His expression was inscrutable. “And… now you’re _over_ me. When, uh, were you _not_ over me, exactly?”

Hermione took a deep breath. “Uh, Hmm. Well, after I found out, um, I started to have feelings for you.” The confession came out in a glorious rush and despite her devastation over him somehow getting her letter, she was glad this was happening. Writing something in a letter she never intended to send was good, but pushing the words out of her heart and into the air was exhilarating and terrifying. She didn’t have much more to say that wasn’t already written in the letter. She’d told him of her feelings, how they’d grown during his absence, how she’d gone to the Portkey Terminal, excited to see him, and how devastated she’d been when she saw him with Julia, followed by the months of having her heart stomped on repeatedly. Tears pricked her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Draco.”

He finally showed some emotion, and she thought he looked slightly hurt. “You’re sorry?”

“Yes! I never meant for you to find out like this. I don’t know how that letter got sent.” She shook her head. “I never would have wanted you to find out this way. Pansy must have seen it and thought it should go out….”

“You weren’t planning to send this?” he asked, looking back at the letter as though seeing it for the first time. His brow was furrowed deeply, but he had relaxed his death grip on the envelope.

“No!” she cried. “Never! I’d never want to tell you everything that I wrote there.”

He seemed genuinely puzzled. “But… why? If you knew how I felt, then why wouldn’t you say something?”

Hermione stared at him, incredulous. “You’re with Julia,” she said, emphasizing his girlfriend’s name. 

“Julia,” he repeated, his body suddenly going stiff. “Right.”

“And you’re so happy, Draco,” she continued, desperate for this to end. “Everyone can see that. All I want is for you to be happy. I would never want to jeopardize that or our friendship.”

He seemed torn, something warring desperately inside him. “And… is this true? You’re over me, as you said?”

Hermione shut her eyes. “Draco, I wrote that three days ago after learning that you and Julia were moving in together. I… was feeling awful and confused, and I needed—wanted—to tell you all of those things but of course I never could. I wanted to be over you.”

“Do you have feelings for me still?” he asked, his gentle words tinged with urgency. 

This was it—the moment she needed in order to start truly moving on. She had to tell him the truth. And she realized she wanted to be brave. This felt like one of the most significant conversations of her life so far, and she deserved to see it through to the bitter end. She couldn’t leave any room for “what ifs.”

So she looked him in the eye, holding his gaze for a moment before speaking. “Yes. I do.”

Somehow, his expression remained completely blank, which probably hurt more than anything she’d felt since he returned with Julia. She wanted to see his reaction in his eyes, his lips, a frown—something, anything! There was nothing in his steady gaze to give her the slightest clue about what he was thinking. So she had to ask. “And do you still have feelings for me? I… I just need to hear you say it.” 

Now he seemed to crack. He looked away, a deep frown on his face. It felt like time stopped; she was barely breathing, and he didn’t move for what felt like an eternity. The only indication that they weren’t frozen was the pounding of her heart, so fast and intense that she felt a little sick. 

Finally he dragged his eyes up to meet hers again. She wanted to believe that the anguish on his face was somehow for her.

“I’m with Julia,” he said in a strangled voice.

She nodded too vigorously, out of relief and disappointment. Tears threatened and her words wavered. “I know.” 

“And I’m happy,” he continued, his expression tormented. “She makes me happy.”

“I know,” she whispered, wishing that she could make all of the horrible awkwardness and pain go away. But the only way out was through it. She just hoped that he came through unscathed and could continue in his relationship with Julia, the one that made him so happy, as though none of this had happened. 

“I like who I am with her.” His voice sounded stronger now.

Hermione shut her eyes on tears and she smiled resignedly. She sensed him move closer but she dared not look at him. A single tear fell and she ignored it, knowing that he’d leave soon and many would follow. 

“So I shouldn’t have feelings for you,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. 

At that, she did open her eyes, startled by just how close he’d come. Without thinking, she did look at him to see that his expression was still torn but kind. Then he reached up and gently wiped the tear from her cheek. His fingers lingered on her skin and she had to force herself to take a shaky breath. How long they stood there, she had no idea. It could have been a second, it could have been an hour. She only knew she wasn’t going to be the one to move away. No coherent thought entered her mind. She could only feel his fingers, see the flecks in his eyes, hear his erratic breathing. 

And then it was over. He took a step back and blinked, as though waking from a spell. “Julia,” he said, frowning deeply. “I was supposed to meet her for dinner….” He glanced at his watch. “… ten minutes ago. Bugger.” 

Hermione bit her lip and felt like crying. 

“I have to go,” he said, sweeping around her and grabbing his cloak off the sofa. “I can’t…” He paused, almost looked at her, then continued toward the door. “I have to go.”

“Okay,” Hermione said, not moving from her spot. She just stared after him as he opened the door. There, he paused and looked at her, once again impossible to read. 

Then he left.

****

oOo

Draco closed the door and leaned against the wall. His mind was spinning so fast he didn’t even bother trying to think. He was late for dinner, yes, but he couldn’t just go straight there. He had to think. Even though he couldn’t. What he really needed to do was get through dinner. _Then_ he could think.

He Apparated to the restaurant even though it was only a few blocks from Hermione’s. Merlin, she had feelings for him! A rush of exhilaration hit him and he had to fight the grin that threatened to consume his face. He was on his way to dinner with his girlfriend, whom he did very much like. He’d thought he loved her, but suddenly that word had an entirely new meaning. 

Outside, he took a deep breath to steady himself, then he went in.

Julia looked up as he sat down, relief flooding her face. “Draco! I was starting to get worried.” Then she looked at him more closely. “Is everything okay?”

He smiled, perhaps a little too easily, but she wouldn’t notice. He had suffered through countless hours of pretending as a child; he could get through this dinner as though nothing had changed, as though his whole entire world hadn’t been upended only thirty minutes before.

Somehow, he did it.

When he took Julia home, he stopped at her door. “Good night,” he said, anxious to be alone. Pretending was hard work and he was exhausted. 

Julia took his hand and pulled him down to kiss him. It was strange the way everything in him wanted to pull away. How was it possible that just a few words from Hermione could have such an immediate and definitive effect? When Julia started to pull him through the door, he stopped the kiss and smiled as best he could. “Not tonight.”

She pouted as though she didn’t believe him. “Come on. I’ve missed you. My parents are away,” she said with a chuckle.

“I can’t. I’ve got to head back to the office. And I’ve got a meeting at a ridiculous hour in the morning with some investors from Dubai.” It was all true, but he normally wouldn’t let that keep him. 

“I won’t keep you long,” she said enticingly, pulling his arms as she crossed the threshold. 

Draco put his hands on the doorframe. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I hope I can make it up to you.” 

Again she stuck out her bottom lip and put her hands on his chest. “All right. Tomorrow?”

“I’ll owl you,” he said, taking her hands in his. She kissed him again, and he let her. 

****

oOo

At 2:12 in the morning, Draco pounded on Blaise’s door. Unsurprisingly, nobody answered at first. But Draco wasn’t to be deterred; he pounded again. Finally, he heard footsteps.

A bleary-eyed Blaise opened the door, squinting to see Draco in the dark. “Draco? What the hell, what time is it?”

Draco pushed past him into the house. “Something after two. And you owe me. You got me into this mess, you’re going to help me get out of it.”

Blaise yawned and closed the door. “At two in the morning?”

“Yes,” said Draco insistently. “I know Hermione knows.”

“Ahh.” Blaise nodded and appeared much more awake than he had the moment before. Then he sighed heavily. “Drink?”

“Please,” Draco replied curtly, removing his cloak and sinking into the sofa. 

“Although it smells like you’ve had a few already,” Blaise muttered, heading for the kitchen. When he returned, he said, “So what happened?”

Draco thanked him for the glass and downed it. “That’s not as important as what I’m going to do about it.”

“Well what did she say? How did you find out? That’s all important information for plotting your next move.” 

Draco nodded thoughtfully. “Fine. She didn’t mean to tell me, she wrote a letter, I read it. It was… Merlin, I don’t know how to describe it. It was like seeing into her soul. She never meant for me to see it, that much was obvious. Nobody reveals that much of themselves all in one go like that.” He took another swallow, recognizing what a gift he’d been given. “She wrote everything down. How she’d found out—thanks, by the way,” Draco interjected sarcastically. “She did insist that it was an accident. But she wrote how she felt, confused and flattered, and how over the following weeks, she started thinking of me differently, seeing me and past interactions between us in a new light. How excited she’d been for me to come home, how devastated she was when I showed up with Julia. After that, she’d hoped the feelings would pass, but they didn’t; they only got stronger. Because of course I’m just so charming,” he added sardonically. 

“You’re ridiculing her?” Blaise remarked, surprised.

“No!” Draco cried immediately. “I’m just… Upset. About it all. No, I would never ridicule her. Anyway. She wrote about how she didn’t understand why she couldn’t move on. Well, she opened the letter by saying she _was_ over me. I didn’t read it all right then, just the beginning. Later I finished it and saw that she wasn’t really over me. Of course, in our conversation that followed me reading the beginning of the letter, she told me as much. Said she has feelings for me. She even asked if I had feelings for her!”

Blaise was grinning, which made Draco scowl. “What?” he snapped.

“Seriously?” Blaise asked with a laugh. “The woman you’ve been pining over for years tells you she has feelings for you? Shouldn’t you be… I don’t know… somewhat elated?”

Draco’s scowl deepened. “I have a girlfriend, remember her?”

Blaise waved dismissively. “That’s no real obstacle, is it? It’s not like you’re married. Thank Merlin you didn’t find a place yet and sign papers.”

Draco leapt to his feet and started pacing, extremely frustrated. “You’re being incredibly obtuse. We’ve been together for months, Blaise. I’m happy! Remember? Happy with Julia. She makes me happy!”

“No need to sound so angry about it,” said Blaise, smirking. “What did you say when Hermione asked if you still have feelings for her?”

At that, Draco actually growled. “I nearly kissed her. But I shouldn’t have! I’m with Julia! And I don’t know what to do. I was going to go for a walk in Muggle London, but I stopped at the Leaky first and didn’t get any further. He sent me home at two, and I came here.”

“You really don’t know what to do?” Blaise asked, surprised.

“No!” Draco exclaimed, flopping down onto the sofa once more.

“Shh!” Blaise scolded. “Ginny is asleep!”

“Sorry,” said Draco, though he didn’t really feel all that sorry.

There was silence for a few minutes. Then Blaise said, “Why don’t you make a list?”

“A list?” Draco frowned.

“Yeah. Think through the good and bad about both of them. Maybe something will come to you and help with a decision.” 

Draco considered the suggestion. It wasn’t great, but he was truly at a loss. He shrugged in agreement.

“Start with Julia. Tell me what’s good about her, what you like about her, why you want to be with her.” Blaise pulled out a bag of crisps and started eating. “Hungry?” 

Draco shook his head. “She makes me happy.”

“Be more specific,” Blaise encouraged between mouthfuls.

It was strange trying to make a list of all the good he had with Julia. “Um, she’s… smart, good with money. She’s ambitious, of course. I enjoy being with her.”

“Keep going.”

Draco sighed. “She’s got a nice laugh. She’s done a good job fitting in with everyone. She can beat Ron in chess, which nobody else can do.”

Blaise laughed. “That was priceless.”

“She makes a really good treacle pudding. Oh, she’s pretty.”

At that, Blaise raised his eyebrows. “Pretty? Just pretty? Draco.”

“What?” he asked. 

“Most people would say that she’s more than pretty.”

He shrugged. “You might think so.”

“I do!” Blaise cried, laughing. “I mean, she’s nothing to Ginny, of course.”

“Uh-huh.” Draco rolled his eyes.

After a moment of silence, Blaise, said, “What about Hermione?”

Draco thought for a moment, then smiled without meaning to.

Blaise clapped and pointed. “Ah-ha!”

“What?”

“That means something! Just thinking about her makes you smile.”

Draco glared at him. “And? That’s hardly new.”

“You didn’t smile while thinking about Julia. Never mind. Go on.”

“Hermione…. She’s also smart.”

“Wicked smart,” said Blaise, the phrase chosen to remind Draco of the many conversations they’d had about how Hermione had used her significant intelligence for less than upstanding purposes. 

Draco chuckled. “She makes me laugh. She makes me think. She challenges me, she calls me on my bullshit.” He paused. “She’s beautiful. But… the thing is, she knows me. You know? She was there, somehow, in many of my formative moments growing up. She just gets it. Gets me. Someone will say something stupid or insensitive, or something not even that, but she knows when it bothers me. And she’ll do something small to let me know she knows. A squeeze on my wrist, resting her head on my shoulder for only a second, a certain look. She’s….”

“Everything you’ve ever wanted?” Blaise offered helpfully.

Draco dropped his head into his hands and pushed his palms into his eyes. Not enough to hurt, but enough to feel. “But I am happy with Julia! So Hermione can’t be everything!”

“Sure she can,” said Blaise. “It doesn’t mean other women can’t make you happy. That’s like saying nothing but chocolate is sweet. It’s still your favorite, even though you also like ice cream.”

“You know me so well,” Draco muttered. Blaise had a point. “The problem is… I’ve liked her for years. Always. No matter who else was in my life. Right? She’s always been this… unattainable, impossible ideal for so long. It’s not fair. She can never live up to what’s in my head. She’s bound to disappoint.”

“Hermione isn’t perfect,” Blaise said pointedly. “But she’ll be both more and, yes, less than you imagined.”

“I know she isn’t perfect. But at the same time… she has been the standard. In many ways.”

“Okay, then list all of her faults and shortcomings. You already know she’s a swotty know-it-all.”

“Careful,” said Draco with an edge to his tone.

“Deny it,” challenged Blaise, “with a straight face.” 

“She’s come a long way since school,” Draco argued. “But… she still hates to be wrong.”

“Understatement,” said Blaise with a laugh.

“She’ll go to incredible lengths to prove herself right, and sometimes she doesn’t consider that it means someone else has to be wrong.” This felt ten times more strange than listing things he liked about someone. “She has to have the last word.” That was something they had in common, which didn’t bode well for future disagreements. “Sometimes she dresses… oddly. She can’t leave a mess to sit there, even for ten minutes! She has to clean it up. She laughs too loud.” He cringed. What a petty thing to say.

“Good! See? It’s helpful to see that she isn’t some flawless being. Now. What about Julia?”

Draco tried to think. There were things that he’d discovered in the course of their relationship that annoyed him, but they were small, just like many of the things he didn’t like about Hermione. But he’d chosen not to let them bother him, not to let them get in the way of the good thing he had, and he knew he would do the same for Hermione. There was nothing about Hermione that would ever keep him from being with her.

“There’s really only one, big thing,” he said resignedly.

“Just one?” Blaise asked, a bit alarmed. “You know, Julia’s not perfect either.”

“Of course not. I know that. It’s just… she’s not Hermione.”

Blaise nodded with an annoyingly superior smirk on his face. “Got there at last.”

Draco threw a pillow at him.

“Hey!” Blaise cried, shielding his face. The pillow slammed into the bag of crisps. “What was that for?”

“You being an arse. And anyway, it’s called a throw pillow. You can’t act like you knew I’d end up there,” Draco said sourly.

“But I did.” Blaise threw the pillow back at Draco, who caught it and set it down beside him. “Because I have known you for years and watched you love Hermione from afar. She is your standard. And now you have a chance to actually be with her. There really is no choice, is there?”

Draco took the bottle off the table and refilled his glass, then promptly emptied it. “Fine. I can admit that you’re right.” He groaned. “But… how do I do this, Blaise? How do I tell Julia it’s over? Just eight hours ago, we were looking at a flat together!”

Blaise yawned. “Yeah, maybe tomorrow we can hash that out. But it’s time for me to sleep now.”

Draco tried to stand, but the alcohol and exhaustion had caught up to him with the realization of what he needed to do. It would he awful, he knew, but also the right thing.

“Whoa,” Blaise said at Draco’s wobble. “Maybe you shouldn’t try to Apparate. Just crash on the sofa.”

“Mm,” Draco mumbled, feeling a bit numb around the edge. “Probably a good idea.” He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

****

oOo

He woke the next morning when the alarm on his watch went off. It was designed to get louder and louder until he turned it off. When he was finally roused by it, it was shrieking. He turned it off and lay there for a moment, his head throbbing and wondering where he was. When he forced himself to open his eyes, he saw Ginny sitting in a chair, watching him.

“Creepy?” he said groggily, trying to sit up. 

“Morning!” she said brightly, brandishing a small vial containing and bright red potion.

_Hangover Potion_.

“Goh,” he mumbled, his head pounding. Thoughts were starting to slug their way through his brain again, and he realized that the alarm, set for six in the morning, meant he had exactly 30 minutes to get ready for a meeting at six-thirty. And he’d already spent two just remembering where he was—and then the why hit him in the gut. He slumped back down and pulled the blanket Blaise must have tossed on him back over his head.

“Ah, bad idea, Malfoy. You should get up. Take this.” Ginny pulled the blanket off and thrust the vial into his face.

He groaned but sat up again and did as she’d said. “Thanks,” he mumbled, uncorking the Potion and drinking it quickly. He grimaced at the awful taste. 

“So.” Ginny sat back in the chair and peered at him intently. “Blaise told me everything.”

“Of course he did,” Draco replied, rubbing his temples and praying for the potion to kick in.

“I can’t believe you read her letter!” she exclaimed.

At first, Draco thought she was upset. “It _was_ addressed to me. Came by owl. How was I to know I shouldn’t?”

“Oh, I know. But Hermione has been writing letters like that ever since I’ve known her, and no one has ever actually read one of them! You wouldn’t believe how many of those she wrote to Ron.”

Draco sent her a withering look. Ginny ignored it.

“But you read yours! What was it like?”

Draco shrugged, feeling that the throbbing in his head was lessening. “It was…” He wasn’t sure how to describe it, other than it was a glimpse into her very being, her essence. Even though he wasn’t supposed to have read it, she’d still written it, still written all those words revealing her deepest fears, hopes, and disappointments. 

“No, don’t tell me. I know how private it must be. Blaise said you’re going to be with Hermione?” She was practically bouncing as she said this.

He didn’t know how to respond. “I mean… if that’s what she wants.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Of course she does! What a ridiculous thing to say.”

He met her gaze warily. “She does?”

“Could you be any more dense? What else would she want, Draco?”

“It’s too early for this,” he muttered.

“What are you going to do now? Go tell her?” 

Ginny’s excitement was just too much for his head. The potion was working, but not nearly fast enough. Besides, on a good day, he wasn’t his best first thing in the morning. “No, I’ve got a meeting in…” He checked his watch. “… thirteen minutes.”

Ginny wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, and you should shower before you see her anyway.”

He glared at her. “Not to mention I’ve still got to break up with Julia. The thing is, though… I don’t want to do it,” he said, feeling some relief at admitting this truth.

Ginny blinked. “You don’t want to break up with her? But then, you can’t be with Hermione.”

“It’s not what you think,” he said with a weary sigh. “I want to be with Hermione. But in order to do that, I have to hurt someone deeply that I care for very much. We were looking at flats yesterday! To live in! Together! And now I have to tell her that I have to break up with her?”

Ginny winced. “I see your point. Nobody would want to do that.”

He shook his head. “Yet I must. She isn’t going to understand. How could she? This will be coming from nowhere.”

“I’m sorry, Draco. That sucks. But it’s the right thing. Many times, the right thing is the hard thing.” Ginny gave him a sympathetic smile. 

“You’re right,” he agreed, getting to his feet. “And now I’ve got barely eight minutes to get ready for a meeting. Forgive me for leaving so abruptly.”

“Of course! Goodbye, Draco! And good luck!”

****

oOo


	7. The One With the Fight

Draco’s stomach was a mess of anxious nerves as he made his way to Hermione’s door. He was armed with a light breakfast and her favorite kind of tea, and Pansy had promised that she wouldn’t be there. It was because of her that he was there in the first place, ready to tell Hermione that he’d ended things with Julia three days before and wanted to be with her, if she’d have him. Draco had been surprised and, to be honest, felt a bit guilty at how seemingly over Julia he was, and he’d concluded that what he’d felt for her hadn’t been as strong as he’d thought. Perhaps it had been more wishful thinking that had turned his heart toward her. He had wanted to not be in love with Hermione; perhaps he’d jumped into something too quickly. 

Then Julia’s reaction to discovering that he had feelings for Hermione had completely stunned him. She’d argued that he shouldn’t end things with her because he had no future with Hermione. When Draco had asked why, Julia had responded that because of Hermione’s blood status, he could never marry her. Being friends with a Muggle-born was fine, dating one was acceptable, but the idea of a lifelong commitment was unconscionable to her. Julia held deep pure-blood supremacy ideals and had assumed that Draco did too. The revelation had thrown him completely, and he’d quickly corrected her understanding. He’d left soon after. 

He’d been so astonished and deep in thought, searching his memories for clues he’d missed, that he completely forgot about Friday dinner. Saturday had been spent on some business things and with his parents in between thoughts of his inadequacy and unworthiness to be with Hermione. 

Later that night, Pansy had tracked him down, and when he told her everything, she told him to stop overthinking and get off his arse and talk to Hermione. He told Pansy all about his breakup, and Pansy had been just as shocked at the news. 

When he stopped to think about the absurdity of himself—former Death Eater, recovering coward—being with Hermione—the brightest witch of their age and someone whom he’d spent years tormenting—he couldn’t help himself. She was infinitely better than he was and deserved someone to match. Pansy had merely rolled her eyes at this objection and told him that Hermione wanted him anyway, and who was he to argue with the brightest witch of their age?

Draco smiled at the memory, then realized he’d been standing outside her door for a solid minute. When he knocked, he felt the nerves in his gut clench unpleasantly. 

But then there she was, opening the door, a surprised expression on her face. “Draco!” she said.

He didn’t really wait for her to welcome him in and edged through the door she was not opening widely for him. But he didn’t stop to think about that, either. He had a task, and he wanted to get to it before he lost his nerve. “Morning,” he said as brightly as he could considering his nerves. He set the food parcels on the kitchen table and was about to say something else when movement caught his eye. He glanced up to see another person exit Hermione’s bedroom, buttoning the cuff of his crisp, button-down shirt.

“I’ve got it, Hermione,” said Theo Nott, who hadn’t yet noticed Draco. When he did, he grinned. “Draco! What on earth are you doing here?”

Draco couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He was entirely numb except for feeling like he’d been punched in the stomach by a troll. But he rallied. “Breakfast,” he said quickly, indicating the packages. 

“Oh! Excellent, I’m rather hungry,” said Theo, rubbing his hands together and heading for the table. 

Draco glared at him. “It’s for Pansy, Theo. She does live here, you know. Granger, is Pansy here?”

If Hermione was surprised at hearing him call her by her surname, she didn’t show it. Had he taken the time to really study Hermione’s expression, he’d have recognized that she looked miserable. But his vision was blurry around the edges and it was all he could do to remember to breathe. 

“No,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. 

Draco nodded curtly. He wanted to ask what Theo was doing there, but it seemed rather obvious. “Tell her she owes me two Sickles.” Without waiting for a response, he crossed to the door and was halfway down the hall in only three strides.

Once he got onto the street, he thought he might be sick. How did Theodore Nott come to be in Hermione’s flat at ten on a Sunday morning? In her _bedroom_? He had no idea she even knew Theo! What was going on? When had she started seeing him? Was this how she was trying to get over _him_? She had mentioned that in her letter, that she’d been trying unsuccessfully to move on. Had she finally done so?

Thirty minutes later, he was still shaking. His thoughts had only spun in circles. Then he realized: Pansy. He needed to talk to her. She would know what was going on, and it was her fault that he’d walked in on Hermione with _Theo bloody Nott_ in the first place! He didn’t think she would be at the flat yet, but he thought he had a guess where she might be.

****

oOo

Pansy was easy to find. The café had become their gathering spot in the months since she’d walked through the door in a wedding dress and sat down across from Hermione. Now it was Hermione’s turn to sink into the bench opposite her friend, her heart in tatters.

“Hey!” said Pansy, beaming for an instant before registering the look on Hermione’s face. “What happened?”

Hermione dropped her head into her hands. “Oh, Pansy. I’ve gone and messed everything up.” Then she told her everything that had happened. 

“You actually said yes to Theo?” Pansy was incredulous. “When you’re mad for Draco?”

“Yes!” she groaned. “I sent him an owl when I didn’t hear anything from Draco after our big, you know, messy conversation about the letter. It was stupid, trust me, I know. I knew it the moment I saw Theo at the restaurant. But I had thought it would help me to get over Draco. Or at least forget about him for a little while,” Hermione said miserably. “It seemed harmless! Just one night of forgetting everything, is that so much to ask?”

Pansy put her hand on Hermione’s wrist. “Of course not,” she said kindly. “But what awful timing.”

“I know,” Hermione said with a groan. 

“And with Theo.” Pansy made a face.

“Why? What’s wrong with Theo?” Hermione asked anxiously.

Pansy fidgeted with her napkin. “I hear that Theo has turned into a somewhat decent bloke, but in school, that last year, he did everything he could to make Draco’s life miserable. He led the charge in tormenting Draco on a near-daily basis and made it his mission to destroy any chance of happiness—or at least, peace—Draco might have had. Eventually Draco had enough and challenged him to a duel, which he won, but it wasn’t enough. Theo got worse after that. Draco can’t stand him.” 

Hermione gasped, her shame and dread deepening. “No!”

“Afraid so,” said Pansy sympathetically. “I don’t think they’ve spoken in years.”

Until today, Hermione thought, when Draco discovered him in her home. 

The door to the café chimed, but neither woman paid it any attention. 

Hermione dropped her head into her hands. “And now I’m sure Draco thinks I slept with him. What else would he think? Theo in my flat on a Sunday morning? I was still in my pajamas! Theo was dressed as though he’d stayed the night, as though he was wearing what he’d worn the night before.” Hermione felt wretched. “Do you think Draco could ever believe me?”

Pansy bit her lip but didn’t get to answer. 

“You had no right to tell me you ever had feelings for me.”

Hermione jumped at the sound of Draco’s angry voice behind her. 

“Excuse me?” she said automatically, turning around to see that he was livid. A few other people had turned to look as well.

“I was doing just fine, you know,” he said through gritted teeth. “I was happy with Julia. Very happy. We were moving in together.”

She flushed with embarrassment and anger. “Oh yes, believe me, I know. You said it so absolutely the other night.” 

His expression flashed with hurt. “How could you tell me that… that you had feelings for me, and then three days later, I find you’ve slept with _Theo Nott_?” If he was trying to keep his voice down, he wasn’t doing a very good job. At that outburst, many people were openly staring.

“I did no such thing, Draco Malfoy,” she said, jaw clenched, annoyed even though she knew how it all must have looked to him. “As though you have any right to say anything to me about what I do! You have a girlfriend, remember?”

“You expect me to believe that you didn’t spend the night with him? I just saw him in your bloody flat, Hermione! I doubt he was there to borrow a cup of sugar!”

“It’s not what it looked like,” she snapped. 

“What it looked like?” he repeated, indignant. “Don’t insult me, Hermione. What other reason would there be for him exiting your bedroom this morning, hair tousled and buttoning his shirtsleeves?”

“You incomparable arse!” she cried, standing as well so she could look him in the eye. She took a moment to gather herself, not wishing to hurt him but finding no other course. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we went on a date last night. I ended up with something of his, and he came over this morning to get it.”

He seemed to deflate then, and she was surprised to see more hurt in his eyes. He didn’t speak for a long moment. It was as though the idea of a date with Theo was more of a betrayal than sleeping with him. “A date,” he repeated, as though the words were bitter to him.

“It was just the one,” she said, feeling wretched. 

Draco swallowed hard, his brow furrowed in consternation. “But… Theo?” he said, grinding out the name. 

Hermione said nothing. What could she say that wouldn’t hurt him more? She’d had no idea of the history between them, but she could tell that her ignorance wouldn’t mean much to Draco.

He recovered himself and looked at her, trying to mask the pain but not quite doing so. “Then you had no right to tell me you had feelings for me and then go on a date with another man three days later. You knew I had feelings for you,” he argued, his tone now tired.

Her heart squeezed uncomfortably and she shook her head. “No, I didn’t, Draco.”

“That night—” he started.

“That night?” she interrupted. “I asked you, straight out, if you still had feelings for me, after learning that you’d cared about me for years, and what did you say? You said you were with Julia! That you were happy, and you shouldn’t have feelings for me!”

“But I did,” he protested. “I do! You had to know that!”

She hesitated for an instant as the weight of his words thudded against her heart. He did still have feelings for her! Her instinct had been right. Of course, she’d known it, anybody who had seen them that night would have known, but she hadn’t been able to let herself rest in it. Because none of his words had confirmed it, despite his tenderness toward her. 

“How could you not have known?” he asked, more gently. He looked suddenly tired and crestfallen. 

“You didn’t say it,” she repeated. “I asked you, point blank, and you didn’t say it. You had the perfect chance. All you had to do was say something. But you didn’t do anything, like you haven’t done anything for the last twelve years. You just… left.”

He flinched as though struck, and she knew she’d hit a nerve. Before her eyes, his walls went up, he closed his heart, and he backed away, turned on his heel and stormed out of the café. 

As she watched the door swing shut behind him, she became aware that everyone in the café, even the employees and people who worked in the back, was staring at her. She held her head high and sat down, wishing she could melt through the floor. She took a sip of Pansy’s tea as though she didn’t have a care in the world. When people started talking again, she finally wilted, dropping her head onto the table and fighting tears. 

“That was low,” said Pansy casually, motioning to the waitress for another cup of tea. 

“I know,” Hermione lamented in a muffled tone, wishing she could take back her last barb. She hadn’t called him a coward, but her meaning had been the same. It was his greatest weakness, the place where he had, thanks to her, begun to heal, and she had gone and attempted to destroy him there. She could never forgive herself. The tears fell easily then, and Pansy said nothing, only handed her fresh tissues. 

“What have I done?” she whispered.

Pansy sighed. “You’ve given these fine people a good show for one. Don’t worry about Draco, he’ll forgive you.”

Hermione shook her head. “He shouldn’t. Not ever. Not for what I did. It was unconscionable. Inexcusable.”

“But he loves you,” Pansy remarked. 

The door of the café chimed again, and several people gasped. Pansy looked over Hermione’s shoulder and her eyes went wide. An excited quiet settled over the room; not a sound was heard from the kitchen. With a strange, apprehensive feeling, Hermione turned around. 

Draco had returned. He was standing just a few feet away from her, his expression intense. 

“You’re right,” he said calmly. “In all this time, I’ve done nothing about how I feel about you. And when you asked… I left.” 

Hermione’s heart was pounding and she couldn’t tear her eyes from his. 

“I was a misguided kid when I first started thinking about you, and then my world went to shit. When I finally resurfaced, you were there. You were everything I could never be—good, kind, brave, beautiful—and I was in pieces. I fell for you hard when we were working together, but I didn’t know it. I had nothing, I _was_ nothing. I deserved nothing, least of all your good will. As that time went on, maybe I should have done something when we were working together, but I was finally, actually getting to know you, which I never had before. Not to mention we were both with other people, but even still, I loved you, and it frightened me. Perhaps I was a… a coward.” He smiled ruefully. “But I didn’t want to lose the threads of friendship we had built. I thought, I hoped, once that program ended, I might see you, but it didn’t happen. And then when we reconnected last year… Well, I never, ever imagined that you would think of me in any way that might give me hope.”

The eyes of everyone in the café were now on Hermione but she didn’t notice. She was barely breathing. 

He took a step toward her. “I know I haven’t done anything these past twelve years. But I’m here now. I love you, Hermione Granger. I’ve been in love with you for so long, and I want to be with you, to spend every minute with you. If you’d let me, I will spend the rest of my life loving you.” 

She stood to face him. Their eyes were locked on each other, and she moved near enough that she could touch him if she wanted. But she knew, somehow, that it was _his_ move to make. 

He didn’t hesitate. He pulled her to him and kissed her—heart pounding, blood rushing, earth shattering. There would be time later to think about how much he’d wanted to kiss her, and for how long, how it was better than anything he had imagined, how absolutely perfectly she fit in his arms. For now, he simply felt, relished the few moments where his life felt impossibly right. 

The sounds of wild cheering and clapping broke through the haze of the moment, and Hermione remembered that they were quite on display. Draco stopped the kiss and took her hands in his, keeping her close and thrilling at the way her cheeks were pink and her breath ragged. The smile he gave her was dazzling and set her heart racing. 

Hermione sheepishly looked around the room, amazed by how many people were crammed into the small space. She would have sworn there were more people now than there had been when he’d first spoken.

“Mr. Malfoy!” called one of the servers, getting everyone’s attention. “Would you like to order something? It’s on the house.”

Many people laughed, including Draco. Someone flashed a camera. He looked down at Hermione with a questioning look. She nodded, smiling. “A cup of very strong tea, please. Thank you.”

The server rushed off to prepare his order, and Draco sat down with Hermione at the table where Pansy still sat.

“Draco, when you walked back in that second time,” Pansy said immediately, fanning herself, “I thought I would swoon. I don’t know how Hermione could stand after that speech. I always knew you had a dramatic streak, but Circe!” 

The image of Draco framed in the doorway, the door still swinging shut behind him, the earnest, determined look on his face, would be one Hermione would never forget. His disheveled hair, the cuffs of his dress shirt rolled up, the way he seemed ready to spring at any moment, were indelibly burned into her brain. Which was quite amazing, considering she didn’t think she’d been breathing, and it was a well-known reality that the brain required oxygen to form memories. 

He chuckled, then accepted the cup of tea from the server. “Thank you,” he said, reaching for the sugar bowl on the table. “I’m so glad you were pleased with my performance,” he said wryly. 

“I think everyone in here would agree with my assessment,” Pansy replied bemusedly. “We were hanging on your every word.”

“I’m just relieved at the ending.”

Pansy tutted. “As if that were ever in any doubt.”

Now that the excitement had ended, Hermione’s remorse at her words returned even more stronglye than before. Draco’s seeming instant forgiveness made her feel all the worse. She glanced at Pansy, who seemed to understand her unspoken request.

“I’m heading up,” she said, standing and pulling out a few coins. “I’ll see you later.” Pansy’s movement and departure drew everyone’s attention again, but when nothing exciting happened, it faded. 

“Draco,” Hermione said hesitantly, her heart beating furiously. When he looked at her, his expression was so tender she felt her stomach flip pleasantly. She bit her lip. “I am truly sorry about what I said to you.” At that, he looked down at his cup. “It was beastly of me. And I didn’t mean it. I regretted it as soon as it was out of my mouth. I wouldn’t blame you for despising me, and I can’t believe you came back.”

“I nearly didn’t,” he said quietly, meeting her anxious gaze. “But how could I hold against you those few words of yours, spoken in anger, after the things I had said? I can’t risk losing you, or, even more unthinkable, choose to give you up over them. Once I had calmed down a little, I could think clearly, and I knew that you didn’t truly mean it. You don’t think of me that way or treat me that way, so your words were only used in a moment of anger to hurt.”

She felt like crying. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered again, still upset with herself for introducing seeds of doubt in his mind. 

“I also knew my reasons for why I didn’t act before,” he continued. “It wasn’t because I was afraid. The time never felt right. And I never really saw a path for us. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine you’d ever think of me. I mean, can you really blame me? Considering my upbringing, my life, everything?”

“What I said wasn’t even true,” Hermione continued. “You _had_ done something. You’d come to find me and talk to me, even after what happened this morning.”

Draco sighed and sat back in his chair. “I’m afraid that’s not quite accurate. I went to your flat this morning to talk to you, but not here. After a brisk walk, where I contemplated Theo’s death a few dozen times, I came here in search of Pansy. I was surprised to see you, as I’d assumed you’d still be with Theo.” He ground out the name through thinly veiled hate. 

Hermione squeezed his hand. “You didn’t have to speak to me,” she argued. “You could have turned around and walked out. It took incredible courage to say anything to me after this morning. And then you came back after what I said to you. Because there you were, talking to me about everything, doing something, even after what happened this morning! You continued to pursue me, in front of everyone. On top of that, it was quite unfair to suggest that _you_ should have done something about your feelings, when I could have, just as easily. I was no braver than you.” 

After a moment, Draco smiled at her. “Tell you what,” he said gently, putting his hand on hers and lightly brushing his thumb on her skin, sending delightful little threads of sensation through her. “I won’t judge you for what you said if you won’t judge me.”

Tears pricked in her eyes and she smiled. “You are the best of men, Draco.”

“Let’s not get carried away,” he said playfully, but she could see he was pleased. 

There was an almost-but-not-quite awkward silence between them for a minute or so, and then Hermione broke it. “So, what happens now?”

“Now?” he repeated thoughtfully, sipping from his teacup. 

Then her eyes went wide. “What about Julia?”

He gave her an incredulous look. “Julia? What about Theo?”

She made a face. “That was nothing. I told him so after you left this morning.”

Draco’s expression brightened visibly. “Oh?” 

“Yes!” she cried. “Agreeing to go out with him was a major lapse in judgment on my part. Now tell me about Julia!”

He waved dismissively. “That ended a few days ago. After… your letter.”

“Oh!” Her eyes went wide. “Oh, Draco, I’m so sorry.”

He looked at her strangely. “Sorry? For what?”

“Well, I’m sure that wasn’t easy or pleasant.” Her thoughts were racing, and she felt extremely guilty as being, in essence, the cause of their breakup. 

“No,” he said quietly, offering nothing more. A shadow seemed to darken his features for a moment. Then he smiled. 

Hermione smiled back. “Well, then, so what happens now?”

He looked at her appraisingly for a moment. “Want to have dinner tonight?”

“I’d like that very much,” Hermione said with a grin. All at once, she felt all of the delightful flutterings of new love, sweetened by the friendship she already had with Draco. 

It was going to be a fantastic journey. 

****

**THE END**

A missing scene whose relevance will not escape the reader:

Luna smiled as she drifted through the doorway of Hermione’s flat. She was just there to get something for Pansy, and then she’d be on her way. But there was always the chance of bumping into Harry when she was at Hermione’s, so she intended to linger. After retrieving the requested item, Luna checked on the Nargles that inhabited the far upper corner of the living room.

Something flashed in her periphery, and in her excitement at perhaps seeing a heliopath in person, she spun quickly, knocking into the table on which sat the mail bowl. Half a dozen letters spilled onto the floor, and Luna dutifully picked them up, her eyes darting around the room in search of the magical creature she simply knew had to exist. Instead, her eyes landed on Crookshanks, Hermione’s ancient half-kneazle cat. He was sitting a few feet away, licking his paw. Luna almost turned away but something caught her eye. Just under the cat’s hind paw was a letter she had missed returning to the mail bowl. 

She bent down to pick it up, and Crookshanks purred, rubbing his head into her wrist. Luna sighed and gave the cat a good rub behind his ears. “Hey there, Smelly Cat,” she said wistfully, her mind on Harry. How was it that he hadn’t noticed her interest? True, Harry could be generally unobservant, but she thought she’d been pretty clear. Crookshanks tapped her hand lightly, and Luna remembered the letter. She picked it up without giving it another glance and put it with all the other mail.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thanks for reading! If you want, search YouTube for "Rachel Finds Out" and "Ross Finds Out" to see the two main scenes which inspired this story.


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